I'll be MIA over the next week because I'll be on vacation. Before you get jealous, it's supposed to rain during the meat of the cruise, so I'm not sure what that'll mean for our trips. No matter what I'm having fun though; I'm kinda glad I know about the potential crappy weather so I can mentally prepare to have an awesome time anyway. How's that for positive?
Here’s the 2006 list of Shele schtuff. Lists are easier than actually thinking about the ending year and what it means to me. Or whatever. Here goes...
Kittens acquired: 1
Jobs lost: 0 (count your blessings, eh?)
Moves: 0!
Pounds gained: 11 (ew!)
Months without candy: 1
Trips taken: 12
06 World Series won by the best team ever (in my heart at least): 1
Totally sweet sponsorships acquired: 1
Watches purchased: 1
Watches broken: 1 (curses!)
Marathons: 1
Tri Sprints: 2
Half IMs: 1
Ironmans (ironmen? Irondistances?): 2
Ultradistances: 1
DNFs: 0
PRs: 3 (10k, sprint tri, ironman)
Bikes purchased: 1
Bikes owned: 2.1
Not a bad year if I may say so. I've made some new friends—in fact, all my non-work friends are brand spanking new thanks to triathlon; Houston Racing changed my life, and blogging has been surprisingly encouraging. Who knew? May I keep my new buddies in the next year despite being a grumpy ol’ fart. What next year will bring is still more of a mystery than I'd like (case in point: no tris planned after Arizona. What shall I do? Where should I go? I can't decide!), but it's pretty exciting nonetheless. Life is good.
Happy new year to you guys! Go 2007! Woo!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
If I’m even doing it, what’s your excuse?
Did I mention I’m going on a 7 day cruise through the Caribbean starting December 30? Well, I am. Originally I thought this would exclude me from partaking in the GYGO Virtual Tri-Geek Challenge, but no. Meet Mishelek, race #60. If I beat everyone else out of bed (I know, I know unlikely) I can get a mostly empty pool to swim 200 yards. Then I can hit the gym’s stationary bikes for the 15 mile bike ride and run the track for a 4 mile run. Then I can shower and get off the boat to enjoy Mujahual. If I can do it, you can too (except that last part).
I don’t expect to go fast because I very much hope I’m nursing a slight hangover. But it’s not about my speed or race distance—it’s about moving my ass at the first opportunity of 2007. I think. It could also be about burning off the night before’s calories... and of course that hangover.
I don’t expect to go fast because I very much hope I’m nursing a slight hangover. But it’s not about my speed or race distance—it’s about moving my ass at the first opportunity of 2007. I think. It could also be about burning off the night before’s calories... and of course that hangover.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Holiday funnin'
Here's our pretty tree:
And here are the gingerbread and sugar cookies (tantalizing little men!) that E, K, and I made on Sunday while moaning and groaning-- and celebrating-- our 50k completion:
Neat, huh?
And here are the gingerbread and sugar cookies (tantalizing little men!) that E, K, and I made on Sunday while moaning and groaning-- and celebrating-- our 50k completion:
Neat, huh?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
I'm full of crap: Sunmart 50k review
If you're expecting a post about my ultra distance race this weekend you certainly won't be disappointed. If you're expecting a post about poop, you certainly won't be disappointed.
Friday lunchtime. My friend E and I went out to packet pickup out by the airport during lunch. Since I was coerced by K into running Sunmart I passed on the idea to her, another ultra newbie. I had good reasons for selecting her: I wasn't sure I wanted to run with the friend who coerced me, E had some trouble in last year's marathon that I believe could have been avoided if she'd had a longer run, we were similarly paced, and this 50k was reportedly "laid back and fun." Note: "fun" should not be associated with any run over 15 miles. There is nothing fun about running for several hours. Anyway, E bought what I was selling and here we were, picking up some packets.
I took a picture of our race goodies (at the end of the post), and for an $80 entry fee we made out like bandits. Here's what we got on Friday:
Can you beat that with a stick? For our entry we also could have gone to the pasta dinner on Friday night (and bring a guest), but we opted to skip out on fighting traffic on 45. Instead, it turned out E and I both ate pizza for dinner and met up at 5ish the next morning.
The plan was for me to drive to her place, then take her car to K's house; K was driving 5 runners and a husband up to Huntsville because, well, that's what you do when you're nice and you drive a Tahoe. At E's place I was shocked at how little she brought: her fuel belt, an ID, and a Clif bar. Meanwhile, I had my T1 bag stuffed to the brim with a camelback, extra clothes, extra shoes, Gatorade, bars, gels, first aid, bodyglide, and some lubricating jelly I keep for emergencies (wink wink) (just kidding... it's for long bike rides) (um, awkward!). Anyway, we set off to K's place with E realized she didn't have the bottles for her fuel belt. "No biggie," I said. "I'll call K--she has tons of stuff like that." A short call later K was getting out her 10 oz bottles for E and all was well. 30 seconds later E realized she hadn't brought her number. "Surely you can get a replacement" I thought. Then she realized she had no chip. No chip? Okay now we were in trouble. We were already running a few precious minutes late and I was afraid this current setback would leave us driving ourselves up to Huntsville, not a pretty picture. E frantically called her husband--who never picks up his cell phone--and told him to meet us at K's right away. Somehow we only waited 5 minutes for him before we were off.
E trains like you're supposed to train for a marathon: she owns a fuel belt and does her long runs with HoustonFIT (two things I'll never do). I am not so much into marathon training because I have no respect for the distance even though it's big, and I train out of fear of race failure and a smaller desire to do well. I race to train. I'm cool with that. E is quite the opposite, and this is what I attribute to a non-flaky chick forgetting her race essentials on race morning. Anyway, no harm no foul right?
Huntsville is about 70 miles north of Houston, and I wasted no time in sleeping on my camelback wrapped in my coat (a very comfy pillow) on the way up. Before I knew it we were piling out of the car. While I put on my coat in the chilly 40 degree air I snagged my watch on my sleeve and broke the wristband. Crap. I sulked (I don't do mornings) while we set up camp, headed to breakfast, and watched the 50 mile race start 30 minutes before we were set to go. The breakfast buffet had kolaches, biscuits, sausage, ham, french toast, and a few other goodies for the crowds. I took a biscuit, kolache, and a cup of coffee to top off my 5:30 breakfast of Gatorade AM (ha! I know, I know), a Snickers Marathon bar, and a banana.
Let's pause for poop story #1. E was very concerned about needing to go on the trail, so K suggested taking some Imodium to quiet the crowd, if you know what I mean. I made a big stink about this (being anti-pill except for the occasional Tylenol PM), saying that she just needed to relax and get a good dump in her morning routine and then she wouldn't have to worry about it. I took some coffee to ahem, keep up with my pre-race morning routine. I thought all would be well since it always is. I was wrong.
Anyway, we got to the starting line, the gun went off, we started running, la la la. Since we were about to run 31.1 miles we were in no hurry to push the pace; we were running maybe 10:30 miles. Before too long we were on the out-and-back stretch of single track. E and I were behind these 4 annoying women who kept talking loudly and stopping to take pictures. Cute, huh? Except the entire field was single file on this damn trail and they were holding everyone up. The whole way out I made hand gestures while E laughed behind me. Is there anything funner than making fun of people? I think not. Anyway, we hit the 5k at around 39:00. 39? Holy jeez! The way back wasn't much better as we started our first 12.5 mile loop at 1:17, 15 minutes slower than our expected pace. I kept thinking we'd have plenty of time to make up that first 10k, but the truth is 15 minutes is a lot to make up, especially on trails. Our goal of 12:00 pace wasn't looking bright, and my secret goal of breaking 6 hours (11:35 pace) was even bleaker. Oh well. We were having a good time passing folks and enjoying the aide stations, which had Pepsi products (Mt. Dew was so good), PowerAde (mmm the blue so good), candy of every type, pb&j, energy bars, potatoes, pretzels, peanuts--you name it. We charged the hills on the first loop even though our plan was to walk because we were behind pace and wanted to make up some ground. I was a little grumpy about this hill running, but E kept pushing the pace and I got tired of saying we should slow down-- I felt wimpy. Anyway, around mile 13 I started, well, feeling somethin' heavy while driving in my Chevy. The next aide station I had a private party in the porta-potty that was quite smashing. Post poo we jetted off again to our longest leg without and aide station, 3.22 miles. Man were they the worst miles of my life. The next leg--the 2.79 mile one to the 2nd loop/finish line-- was the second longest pair of miles of my life. Finally we rounded the timing mat for our last 12.5 mile loop at 4:00:00 even... nowhere near our goal, but my consta-pooping hadn't helped matters. We ran in awkward silence for awhile, each assuming the other was mad at our pace till we broke the ice with the "I'm so glad we're doing this" chat. The air was clear for us to enjoy the rest of the race.
Till I had to poop again. This time it was so bad I had to stop and walk for fear of shitting all over the course. I barely made it into the porta-potty, which I sat in so long that someone started asking if I was alright. "No," I thought. "I'm not alright. I'm shitting my brains out and I'm 10 miles from the finish." Finally I took one of E's Imodiums so I could quit the shit. Though my stomach hurt for the rest of the race I didn't have to go to the bathroom, so I guess it worked. Anyway, post poo we continued along at a similar pace we'd held on the first loop, just under 11:00 miles. At 8 miles to the finish E got excited and started 10 minute pace, and I kept up with her for 3 miles. Finally she took off like someone had lit a fire under her ass that was similar to the one lit in mine. In the five-ish miles we were apart (on the worst mental part of the course, too, remember) she gained a nine minute lead on me, and I wasn't even going that slow (I'm thinking near 12:00 pace--it was hard to tell with no watch and no partner with a watch). Okay, maybe I did go slowly after I landed face-first in the dirt, but only for a minute! E finished in 6:48, and I rolled in at 6:57, an hour after I planned and with a 13:26 min/mile average.
Afterward I collected my sweet Sunmart afghan (see the pic) and my finishers medal before hitting the barbecue line. E's husband was there for the finish (and, unexpectedly, to have some of the barbecue) and to drive us home. I was feeling ashamed of getting my ass kicked by E, but I was also very pleased she'd done so well and finished strong... she has potential to be way faster than she is. I also had no room to be competitive at all considering I'd done but one long run of 13 miles when she was grinding out long runs every weekend for the past 2 months. Ya gotta earn it, ya know? Besides, this meant she'd conquered her mental demons; I think she'll have a great marathon next month.
Sunmart goodies:
What was most surprising for me about this race was that my muscles were not my limiting factor--it was my aching feet and grindy knees. I wasn't sore at all on Saturday except for joints, and Sunday I was pretty good except for on stairs (ha! Till I tried running to my car--not my most graceful moment). Monday and today I have a little bit of tightness, but I feel ready to hop into training again. I'm lifting today and continuing a pretty regular training schedule starting tomorrow. If I drop dead soon I'll let you know.
Friday lunchtime. My friend E and I went out to packet pickup out by the airport during lunch. Since I was coerced by K into running Sunmart I passed on the idea to her, another ultra newbie. I had good reasons for selecting her: I wasn't sure I wanted to run with the friend who coerced me, E had some trouble in last year's marathon that I believe could have been avoided if she'd had a longer run, we were similarly paced, and this 50k was reportedly "laid back and fun." Note: "fun" should not be associated with any run over 15 miles. There is nothing fun about running for several hours. Anyway, E bought what I was selling and here we were, picking up some packets.
I took a picture of our race goodies (at the end of the post), and for an $80 entry fee we made out like bandits. Here's what we got on Friday:
- A huge gym bag
- Polo shirt
- Long sleeve dri-fit race shirt
- dri-fit hat
- sunglasses
- gloves
- nice socks
- a teddy bear (DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS proudly sewn on his back)
- a portfolio
- a manicure kit
- a bandana
- a poncho
- a logo-ed water bottle
- 2 running magazines
- a nice race program
- 2 Hammer Gels
Can you beat that with a stick? For our entry we also could have gone to the pasta dinner on Friday night (and bring a guest), but we opted to skip out on fighting traffic on 45. Instead, it turned out E and I both ate pizza for dinner and met up at 5ish the next morning.
The plan was for me to drive to her place, then take her car to K's house; K was driving 5 runners and a husband up to Huntsville because, well, that's what you do when you're nice and you drive a Tahoe. At E's place I was shocked at how little she brought: her fuel belt, an ID, and a Clif bar. Meanwhile, I had my T1 bag stuffed to the brim with a camelback, extra clothes, extra shoes, Gatorade, bars, gels, first aid, bodyglide, and some lubricating jelly I keep for emergencies (wink wink) (just kidding... it's for long bike rides) (um, awkward!). Anyway, we set off to K's place with E realized she didn't have the bottles for her fuel belt. "No biggie," I said. "I'll call K--she has tons of stuff like that." A short call later K was getting out her 10 oz bottles for E and all was well. 30 seconds later E realized she hadn't brought her number. "Surely you can get a replacement" I thought. Then she realized she had no chip. No chip? Okay now we were in trouble. We were already running a few precious minutes late and I was afraid this current setback would leave us driving ourselves up to Huntsville, not a pretty picture. E frantically called her husband--who never picks up his cell phone--and told him to meet us at K's right away. Somehow we only waited 5 minutes for him before we were off.
E trains like you're supposed to train for a marathon: she owns a fuel belt and does her long runs with HoustonFIT (two things I'll never do). I am not so much into marathon training because I have no respect for the distance even though it's big, and I train out of fear of race failure and a smaller desire to do well. I race to train. I'm cool with that. E is quite the opposite, and this is what I attribute to a non-flaky chick forgetting her race essentials on race morning. Anyway, no harm no foul right?
Huntsville is about 70 miles north of Houston, and I wasted no time in sleeping on my camelback wrapped in my coat (a very comfy pillow) on the way up. Before I knew it we were piling out of the car. While I put on my coat in the chilly 40 degree air I snagged my watch on my sleeve and broke the wristband. Crap. I sulked (I don't do mornings) while we set up camp, headed to breakfast, and watched the 50 mile race start 30 minutes before we were set to go. The breakfast buffet had kolaches, biscuits, sausage, ham, french toast, and a few other goodies for the crowds. I took a biscuit, kolache, and a cup of coffee to top off my 5:30 breakfast of Gatorade AM (ha! I know, I know), a Snickers Marathon bar, and a banana.
Let's pause for poop story #1. E was very concerned about needing to go on the trail, so K suggested taking some Imodium to quiet the crowd, if you know what I mean. I made a big stink about this (being anti-pill except for the occasional Tylenol PM), saying that she just needed to relax and get a good dump in her morning routine and then she wouldn't have to worry about it. I took some coffee to ahem, keep up with my pre-race morning routine. I thought all would be well since it always is. I was wrong.
Anyway, we got to the starting line, the gun went off, we started running, la la la. Since we were about to run 31.1 miles we were in no hurry to push the pace; we were running maybe 10:30 miles. Before too long we were on the out-and-back stretch of single track. E and I were behind these 4 annoying women who kept talking loudly and stopping to take pictures. Cute, huh? Except the entire field was single file on this damn trail and they were holding everyone up. The whole way out I made hand gestures while E laughed behind me. Is there anything funner than making fun of people? I think not. Anyway, we hit the 5k at around 39:00. 39? Holy jeez! The way back wasn't much better as we started our first 12.5 mile loop at 1:17, 15 minutes slower than our expected pace. I kept thinking we'd have plenty of time to make up that first 10k, but the truth is 15 minutes is a lot to make up, especially on trails. Our goal of 12:00 pace wasn't looking bright, and my secret goal of breaking 6 hours (11:35 pace) was even bleaker. Oh well. We were having a good time passing folks and enjoying the aide stations, which had Pepsi products (Mt. Dew was so good), PowerAde (mmm the blue so good), candy of every type, pb&j, energy bars, potatoes, pretzels, peanuts--you name it. We charged the hills on the first loop even though our plan was to walk because we were behind pace and wanted to make up some ground. I was a little grumpy about this hill running, but E kept pushing the pace and I got tired of saying we should slow down-- I felt wimpy. Anyway, around mile 13 I started, well, feeling somethin' heavy while driving in my Chevy. The next aide station I had a private party in the porta-potty that was quite smashing. Post poo we jetted off again to our longest leg without and aide station, 3.22 miles. Man were they the worst miles of my life. The next leg--the 2.79 mile one to the 2nd loop/finish line-- was the second longest pair of miles of my life. Finally we rounded the timing mat for our last 12.5 mile loop at 4:00:00 even... nowhere near our goal, but my consta-pooping hadn't helped matters. We ran in awkward silence for awhile, each assuming the other was mad at our pace till we broke the ice with the "I'm so glad we're doing this" chat. The air was clear for us to enjoy the rest of the race.
Till I had to poop again. This time it was so bad I had to stop and walk for fear of shitting all over the course. I barely made it into the porta-potty, which I sat in so long that someone started asking if I was alright. "No," I thought. "I'm not alright. I'm shitting my brains out and I'm 10 miles from the finish." Finally I took one of E's Imodiums so I could quit the shit. Though my stomach hurt for the rest of the race I didn't have to go to the bathroom, so I guess it worked. Anyway, post poo we continued along at a similar pace we'd held on the first loop, just under 11:00 miles. At 8 miles to the finish E got excited and started 10 minute pace, and I kept up with her for 3 miles. Finally she took off like someone had lit a fire under her ass that was similar to the one lit in mine. In the five-ish miles we were apart (on the worst mental part of the course, too, remember) she gained a nine minute lead on me, and I wasn't even going that slow (I'm thinking near 12:00 pace--it was hard to tell with no watch and no partner with a watch). Okay, maybe I did go slowly after I landed face-first in the dirt, but only for a minute! E finished in 6:48, and I rolled in at 6:57, an hour after I planned and with a 13:26 min/mile average.
Afterward I collected my sweet Sunmart afghan (see the pic) and my finishers medal before hitting the barbecue line. E's husband was there for the finish (and, unexpectedly, to have some of the barbecue) and to drive us home. I was feeling ashamed of getting my ass kicked by E, but I was also very pleased she'd done so well and finished strong... she has potential to be way faster than she is. I also had no room to be competitive at all considering I'd done but one long run of 13 miles when she was grinding out long runs every weekend for the past 2 months. Ya gotta earn it, ya know? Besides, this meant she'd conquered her mental demons; I think she'll have a great marathon next month.
Sunmart goodies:
What was most surprising for me about this race was that my muscles were not my limiting factor--it was my aching feet and grindy knees. I wasn't sore at all on Saturday except for joints, and Sunday I was pretty good except for on stairs (ha! Till I tried running to my car--not my most graceful moment). Monday and today I have a little bit of tightness, but I feel ready to hop into training again. I'm lifting today and continuing a pretty regular training schedule starting tomorrow. If I drop dead soon I'll let you know.
My thoughts
Trail running is way better on my body than the roads, though it's hard to keep a good pace. We probably never ran slower than 12, maybe 13 minute miles in really hilly spots, but breaking for my crappiness and for aide stations really jacked up our overall time. I wish I'd had my own watch to just time how long it took us to just run the distance, but oh well. I went in saying I just wanted to finish and I meant it--what a great experience. I also have a newfound respect for the ultradistance events; I'll never dare try a 50 miler without serious training under my belt. Now that I'm unsore again I'm considering doing the 50 miler next year...
This was also my first race running with someone except for IM WI. Even though I was with someone I liked/respected (and who giggles at farting like I do), I'm still not keen on running with others. I don't need the company to push myself, and I really like the peace you can only get paying attention to your steps alone. It's kinda like my running is my secret I don't want to share with anyone. See how antisocial I am? I want to run for 7 hours by myself. That's just wrong.
I can't figure out what sent me into shitting overdrive. I stuck to peanut butter and bread, gum drops, GUs, and PowerAde for the most part. The only thing I can figure upset me was the soda; I drank it at about every other aide station and I wasn't burping like normal. Next time I'll stick to water and Gatorade to see if my theory holds true--but I'm bringing my own Imodium. I guess.
This was also my first race running with someone except for IM WI. Even though I was with someone I liked/respected (and who giggles at farting like I do), I'm still not keen on running with others. I don't need the company to push myself, and I really like the peace you can only get paying attention to your steps alone. It's kinda like my running is my secret I don't want to share with anyone. See how antisocial I am? I want to run for 7 hours by myself. That's just wrong.
I can't figure out what sent me into shitting overdrive. I stuck to peanut butter and bread, gum drops, GUs, and PowerAde for the most part. The only thing I can figure upset me was the soda; I drank it at about every other aide station and I wasn't burping like normal. Next time I'll stick to water and Gatorade to see if my theory holds true--but I'm bringing my own Imodium. I guess.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Reason #87 my brain thinks it's 87
years old that is. Anyway, on my way to the bathroom today I thought, "Man, I really need to buy some knee-high stockings for these shoes."
Does anyone wear knee highs over the age of 12 and under the age of 60? I don't think so.
Does anyone wear knee highs over the age of 12 and under the age of 60? I don't think so.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Oh bother
Let me take a moment to tell you about my Thanksgiving Day Race, which I entered as an Athena thanks to some non-holiday second helpings of late. In years past, a finish of 59:00 in this 10k would result in a top 10% finish among Athenas, so my goal was to break an hour since I haven't been running much. My last 10k was 50:04 in February but that was because I was doing a lot of speedwork and in full IM AZ training mode-- not a reasonable goal for my recent activity. Besides, ConocoPhillips is pretty flat with only 2 hills while T-Day had one steep short hill and three bridges to cross. How can a race cross the Ohio three times and still end up on the Ohio side of the river? MAGIC!
The race was at 9 on Thursday morning, and race day registration (what? haven't seen this recently since tri's sell out and long road races don't offer it), the post party, restrooms, etc was in Paul Brown Stadium, where the Bengals play. This totally rocked because you could warm up/relieve yourself in the comfort of a warm toilet-filled restroom rather than a cold dirty port-a-let. I got there early (free parking too!), goofed off for awhile, and then headed to the start line. I was about 5 feet behind the 9:00/mile sign, thinking that 9:30 or so wasn't out of my range. After standing there for 20 minutes the race started right on time. My first mile felt awful since my feet had gone numb in the shadows of the other folks waiting at the start line. I also got really hot and removed my gloves, headband thingy, and rolled up my long sleeves within five minutes. I don't run in much more than a cotton tee and running shorts til it gets below 40, but I was afraid I'd become a cold runner wuss. I hadn't. Anyway, my first mile was a painful 9:45, so I decided I was just going to have a nice comfy slow run the rest of the way. Then my mile splits got awesomer: 9:00, 9:24, 9:24, 8:58, and 8:30. I finished up in a respectable 56:37 (and with a nice negative split), 175th of 750ish 25-29 year olds. And in the Athenas? I'll never know. I thought it was weird I didn't get to weigh in when I picked up my packet, but I expected to still have an Athena division considering there were 12,000 competitors out there (and the guy I started with had registered as a Clydesdale). I was wrong. The results came up with me in my age group and the awards list contained no weight divisions. I think there's a valuable lesson to learn there: lose weight.
After I finished I headed to the post race party. I finally took off my hot wind pants (which I had over my tights), tied off the ankles, and got in the feast line. First I got an ice cream cone, a bottle of water--then I got to work collecting sunflower seeds, apple dippers (McD's was a sponsor) cookies, string cheese, granola bars, and orange juice. There were also bagels, but I really don't care much for them (especially because I'd had one for breakfast). I left with carrying my booty-stuffed pants and feeling good about my run.
So if you're ever in Cincinnati on Thanksgiving, well, I'm sorry about your luck. But if you can dig yourself out of your dismay for being here, head out to the Thanksgiving Day Race. It's cheap (you don't HAVE to get a shirt, which is a relief to anyone with 183,307 race t-shirts), fun, accessible, and has a killer buffet of food afterward. Hard to beat that with a stick.
Now I'm gonna go hit Donatos like it's going out of style-- which you could argue it is since I can't find the stuff anywhere but the 'Nati. :)
The race was at 9 on Thursday morning, and race day registration (what? haven't seen this recently since tri's sell out and long road races don't offer it), the post party, restrooms, etc was in Paul Brown Stadium, where the Bengals play. This totally rocked because you could warm up/relieve yourself in the comfort of a warm toilet-filled restroom rather than a cold dirty port-a-let. I got there early (free parking too!), goofed off for awhile, and then headed to the start line. I was about 5 feet behind the 9:00/mile sign, thinking that 9:30 or so wasn't out of my range. After standing there for 20 minutes the race started right on time. My first mile felt awful since my feet had gone numb in the shadows of the other folks waiting at the start line. I also got really hot and removed my gloves, headband thingy, and rolled up my long sleeves within five minutes. I don't run in much more than a cotton tee and running shorts til it gets below 40, but I was afraid I'd become a cold runner wuss. I hadn't. Anyway, my first mile was a painful 9:45, so I decided I was just going to have a nice comfy slow run the rest of the way. Then my mile splits got awesomer: 9:00, 9:24, 9:24, 8:58, and 8:30. I finished up in a respectable 56:37 (and with a nice negative split), 175th of 750ish 25-29 year olds. And in the Athenas? I'll never know. I thought it was weird I didn't get to weigh in when I picked up my packet, but I expected to still have an Athena division considering there were 12,000 competitors out there (and the guy I started with had registered as a Clydesdale). I was wrong. The results came up with me in my age group and the awards list contained no weight divisions. I think there's a valuable lesson to learn there: lose weight.
After I finished I headed to the post race party. I finally took off my hot wind pants (which I had over my tights), tied off the ankles, and got in the feast line. First I got an ice cream cone, a bottle of water--then I got to work collecting sunflower seeds, apple dippers (McD's was a sponsor) cookies, string cheese, granola bars, and orange juice. There were also bagels, but I really don't care much for them (especially because I'd had one for breakfast). I left with carrying my booty-stuffed pants and feeling good about my run.
So if you're ever in Cincinnati on Thanksgiving, well, I'm sorry about your luck. But if you can dig yourself out of your dismay for being here, head out to the Thanksgiving Day Race. It's cheap (you don't HAVE to get a shirt, which is a relief to anyone with 183,307 race t-shirts), fun, accessible, and has a killer buffet of food afterward. Hard to beat that with a stick.
Now I'm gonna go hit Donatos like it's going out of style-- which you could argue it is since I can't find the stuff anywhere but the 'Nati. :)
Friday, November 10, 2006
D4: My PR
They say ("they" being tri bloggers. "They" know everything) that there are 4 elements of triathlon: swimming, biking, running, and taking good race pictures.
I have not mastered the elusive 4th discipline.
No matter how great I'm feeling, how fresh my stride, how aero I go my pictures suck. I look like a lazy, fat power walker on training wheels. Oh! And while you're at it, throw in some water wings. It's ridiculous how horrible I usually look. Remember my IM AZ finish pic? I looked high as a kite (and no, I wasn't). I'm as anti-tri photogenic as you get.
Ironstar, however, was a different story. Despite my not training and not going fast I looked like a real athlete. Here, see for yourself:
(They're links because I don't know how to make the photographer's online pictures show up in my blog... I'm pitiful at this "technology" stuff.)
Emerging from the water
Up close & personal-- note the Athena double chin
Aero baby!
T2-- I swear I'm running. Kinda.
Best running shot ever-- note that both my feet are off the ground :)
Finishing hard
Finish
Priorities: 1) finish, 2) dick around with watch stoppage
The other day the links were different, so these may not work for long. In which case, uh, tough nuggets. :) Enjoy!
I have not mastered the elusive 4th discipline.
No matter how great I'm feeling, how fresh my stride, how aero I go my pictures suck. I look like a lazy, fat power walker on training wheels. Oh! And while you're at it, throw in some water wings. It's ridiculous how horrible I usually look. Remember my IM AZ finish pic? I looked high as a kite (and no, I wasn't). I'm as anti-tri photogenic as you get.
Ironstar, however, was a different story. Despite my not training and not going fast I looked like a real athlete. Here, see for yourself:
(They're links because I don't know how to make the photographer's online pictures show up in my blog... I'm pitiful at this "technology" stuff.)
Emerging from the water
Up close & personal-- note the Athena double chin
Aero baby!
T2-- I swear I'm running. Kinda.
Best running shot ever-- note that both my feet are off the ground :)
Finishing hard
Finish
Priorities: 1) finish, 2) dick around with watch stoppage
The other day the links were different, so these may not work for long. In which case, uh, tough nuggets. :) Enjoy!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Wetsuits are for wusses
Ironstar 2004. My first triathlon. I arrived too late to drive the course the night before, which horrified the soon-to-turn-pro Matt McCurdy, my dinner mate at the pasta dinner. It also horrified him I was riding a $600 bike I’d owned all of 10 days with aero bars that had been installed the night before. Indeed, I was a little horrifying. It’s how I roll, SON!
After dinner I headed up to my hotel room, organized my things and checked out my first race packet. I read through all that stuff I now throw away, intrigued by the newness of it all. As I was getting ready for the race I realized I’d forgotten socks; despite the fact there was a Wal-Mart 2 miles away, I opted to race without socks. No biggie.
That night I had trouble pulling myself away from the television because the Red Sox were playing the Yankees (back when I hated the Yankees and didn’t hate the Red Sox. Times have changed). I’m pretty sure that was the night that Curt Schilling played superhero with his bloody sock. Still, I turned off the game in the 7th or so inning and slept like a rock, as always. Baseball will go on whether I’m watching or not, but my sleep will not.
The next day I woke up, got my gear together, and stood nervously on the beach during the National Anthem. I spoke to some women standing around about how to approach the open water swim. They squealed with delight at my newbie-ness and offered me good advice about getting out in front early if I was a strong swimmer. They both passed me on the bike, but I was king of the world in that lake.
The race went really, really well. I was 3rd out of the water in my heat; unfortunately, 1 and 2 were also in my 20-24 age group, and I never caught those ladies. My transitions were slow, but I didn’t know that yet. On my bike, I tried to get down in aero and ran myself off the road into a ditch, but still managed to come back to pavement unscathed (sadly, I did this on a flat 2 mile stretch of road so EVERYONE whose ass I whooped in the swim could seem me. Sigh). I didn’t get in aero for months after that. Before I knew it I was on the run, rockin’ and rollin’ like a true champ. I don’t have my mile splits because I was wearing a crappy watch, but I ran the whole way. My ankles stung a bit from the rub they were getting for going sockless, but it wasn’t too bad. At mile 10 I was pumped—a 5k left! Child’s play! At that water station, two ladies I’d been back-and-forth with the entire run asked me if my feet hurt. “Why?” I replied. One pointed to my shoes, which were red with blood: my avatar was born. The sight of my feet almost made me puke instantly. After a few woozy seconds I continued on and finished in 6:32:25… not bad for my first half. I got a massage, a beer, some pizza, a mug, and a 3rd place plaque for my efforts. Go me!
Ironstar 2006. 7 weeks after Ironman Wisconsin found me in my normal post IM state: fat, happy, and living on beer and cheese (how Wisconsin appropriate). After such a crapass race I wasn’t interested in jumping on the training bandwagon except for my celeb ride with Greyhound and of course, the beerathon. But I wanted to do this race for old time’s sake, and dammit if I wasn’t going to finish.
But first I had to get there on time. After dawdling all Saturday I found myself going 85 all the way up to Conroe to make in time to get my packet before it was sold to the bloodthirsty hordes of people who didn’t register in time. I made it by 15 minutes. This year I skipped the pasta dinner so I could catch a meal with my two tri friends K and T, the girlfriend of T, and the parents of K. We had a great—though slow—Italian meal and trip to Wal-Mart (though I didn’t need anything) before turning in to our cabin. We talked, laughed, and got ready for the next day. This year there was no baseball to watch because my Cards took home the gold the day before (how thoughtful of them!). At 10 (9 PM after the fall backing) K and I turned in.
The next morning we woke up to air temps in the mid-40s and a water temp of 70. I’d been unsure about whether I should wear a wetsuit the night before… um, the next morning I wasn’t! I packed my sweet T1 bag from DeSoto—including wetsuit—and ate my breakfast of a Snickers Marathon bar, banana, and 8 oz greatorade before heading to transition.
The morning quickly warmed. After getting body marked (“I swear it looks pretty” said the body marker chick after putting an A on the back of my calf. Um, okay… do I look like the type of ho who would be annoyed if it was ugly?) and setting up transition, I stood around on the beach with K and her mom waiting for our heats to come up (she was at 7:20 and I was pulling up the large rear at 7:25). I decided that I should at least wade in the water before swim and hopped in the water up to my thighs. The water was downright pleasant! I went back and forth about taking off my neoprene beauty b/c I was afraid the water in the open lake—as opposed to the cove in which we start—would be significantly chillier. About 7 minutes before my wave I finally unzipped it and wiggled out to meet the swim with bare arms and legs. It was a good move.
I started in the front row of girls for my wave, a good positioning judging by the number of silver caps by me as I finished. Next to me was a girl in just a swimsuit who’d written my post title “Wetsuits are for WUSSES” on her cap… to be honest I happened to agree—the water was 70, and after a minute or so it felt really nice. Of course, that minute was a little shocking since I hadn’t warmed up, but still.
Before I knew it we were off. Though normally I would have gone out a little fast to get warmed up and away from the flailing dumbasses around me, I took it easy the entire swim. Within 7 minutes I’d come up on girls from the heat in front of me-- pretty cool. I felt wonderful in the water…smooth, long, efficient. I had to keep reminding myself I was doing this for fun and wasn’t going to blow my load in the first half hour of this ditty so I didn’t speed up. The swim was mostly uneventful despite my ending up in the middle of the bleeping course due to the sun and my difficulty sighting with freaking buoys the size of my freaking head. But I’m not bitter or anything. I cruised out of the water next to the girl I started beside at 33:07. Not my best, and way slower than the 30:34 from ’04. Oh well.
T1 was AWESOME (for me): 2:10, way faster than the 3:00 from ’04. The only thing I’ll mention here is that the Clydesdales/Athenas were on the last rack, which meant they had to run the farthest with their bikes. Does anyone else find this really funny? I did.
The bike was better than I expected. I felt strong and avoided the coasting I normally do on downhills (“What would Greyhound do?”). Nothing really out of the ordinary here except I actually PASSED people. I also was passed, but that’s no surprise; however, I did get passed by a dweeb in an aero helmet about 40 mins in. First of all, dude passed me on a downhill, then quit pedaling so I had to brake to avoid his draft zone. Turd! Not only did he get a 20 min head start on me, it took him another 40 minutes to get by me on the bike with an aero helmet. I swore to loathe this guy the entire race which worked out for me: I passed him 4 times, and he only caught up 3. I blew him off the road on the run. The lesson? If you’re going to pass me, you’d better do it right the first time. I came in at 3:32:41 (16.6 mph pace), not far off the 3:26:27 I posted in my first tri. Sometimes I want to punch 2004 Mishele in the stomach.
T2: 2:11. Smokin! 04’s time? A wussy 3:55.
The run was long, slow, and hot. People quickly trotted past me out of T2, but by the end I caught most of them. My secret? Never stop running, even if some folks are walking faster than my “run.” I only stopped to walk half of the only real hill on the course and each water station. I felt bad, but I was really enjoying the race… I think that might make me creepy. Anyway, I must’ve done something right because check out my last 6 mile splits:
12:30 (hey, I walked to chat with a friend)
11:31
11:26
11:13
10:57
10:20
How cool is that?! I finished the run in 2:30:01 (11:28 pace :-/)a mere 90 seconds from the 2004 posting of 2:28:31. My total time was 6:40:08 compared to the 6:32:25 from my first tri. Considering my training, my pacing, and my initial attitude I did really well. This might be the race I’m most proud of this year behind IM AZ. Sure, it’s kinda slow and I’d expect to have improved in two years instead of slowing down, but I had fun, paced well, nailed my nutrition, and came in 2nd in the Athena division. Yowsa! I was also sore but not handicapped the next day; today I feel like I could do another HIM. Basically it’s the best recovery ever.
And finally, my favorite: the injury report. I’m sunburnt, have 2 chafed underarms, and NO blisters. Not one. The funny thing about this is I brought my new running shoes with me to the race thinking I’d already run in them. I hadn’t. Apparently Mizuno Wave Riders are so awesome they don’t even need breaking in.
Mishele K, welcome to your REAL off season.
After dinner I headed up to my hotel room, organized my things and checked out my first race packet. I read through all that stuff I now throw away, intrigued by the newness of it all. As I was getting ready for the race I realized I’d forgotten socks; despite the fact there was a Wal-Mart 2 miles away, I opted to race without socks. No biggie.
That night I had trouble pulling myself away from the television because the Red Sox were playing the Yankees (back when I hated the Yankees and didn’t hate the Red Sox. Times have changed). I’m pretty sure that was the night that Curt Schilling played superhero with his bloody sock. Still, I turned off the game in the 7th or so inning and slept like a rock, as always. Baseball will go on whether I’m watching or not, but my sleep will not.
The next day I woke up, got my gear together, and stood nervously on the beach during the National Anthem. I spoke to some women standing around about how to approach the open water swim. They squealed with delight at my newbie-ness and offered me good advice about getting out in front early if I was a strong swimmer. They both passed me on the bike, but I was king of the world in that lake.
The race went really, really well. I was 3rd out of the water in my heat; unfortunately, 1 and 2 were also in my 20-24 age group, and I never caught those ladies. My transitions were slow, but I didn’t know that yet. On my bike, I tried to get down in aero and ran myself off the road into a ditch, but still managed to come back to pavement unscathed (sadly, I did this on a flat 2 mile stretch of road so EVERYONE whose ass I whooped in the swim could seem me. Sigh). I didn’t get in aero for months after that. Before I knew it I was on the run, rockin’ and rollin’ like a true champ. I don’t have my mile splits because I was wearing a crappy watch, but I ran the whole way. My ankles stung a bit from the rub they were getting for going sockless, but it wasn’t too bad. At mile 10 I was pumped—a 5k left! Child’s play! At that water station, two ladies I’d been back-and-forth with the entire run asked me if my feet hurt. “Why?” I replied. One pointed to my shoes, which were red with blood: my avatar was born. The sight of my feet almost made me puke instantly. After a few woozy seconds I continued on and finished in 6:32:25… not bad for my first half. I got a massage, a beer, some pizza, a mug, and a 3rd place plaque for my efforts. Go me!
Ironstar 2006. 7 weeks after Ironman Wisconsin found me in my normal post IM state: fat, happy, and living on beer and cheese (how Wisconsin appropriate). After such a crapass race I wasn’t interested in jumping on the training bandwagon except for my celeb ride with Greyhound and of course, the beerathon. But I wanted to do this race for old time’s sake, and dammit if I wasn’t going to finish.
But first I had to get there on time. After dawdling all Saturday I found myself going 85 all the way up to Conroe to make in time to get my packet before it was sold to the bloodthirsty hordes of people who didn’t register in time. I made it by 15 minutes. This year I skipped the pasta dinner so I could catch a meal with my two tri friends K and T, the girlfriend of T, and the parents of K. We had a great—though slow—Italian meal and trip to Wal-Mart (though I didn’t need anything) before turning in to our cabin. We talked, laughed, and got ready for the next day. This year there was no baseball to watch because my Cards took home the gold the day before (how thoughtful of them!). At 10 (9 PM after the fall backing) K and I turned in.
The next morning we woke up to air temps in the mid-40s and a water temp of 70. I’d been unsure about whether I should wear a wetsuit the night before… um, the next morning I wasn’t! I packed my sweet T1 bag from DeSoto—including wetsuit—and ate my breakfast of a Snickers Marathon bar, banana, and 8 oz greatorade before heading to transition.
The morning quickly warmed. After getting body marked (“I swear it looks pretty” said the body marker chick after putting an A on the back of my calf. Um, okay… do I look like the type of ho who would be annoyed if it was ugly?) and setting up transition, I stood around on the beach with K and her mom waiting for our heats to come up (she was at 7:20 and I was pulling up the large rear at 7:25). I decided that I should at least wade in the water before swim and hopped in the water up to my thighs. The water was downright pleasant! I went back and forth about taking off my neoprene beauty b/c I was afraid the water in the open lake—as opposed to the cove in which we start—would be significantly chillier. About 7 minutes before my wave I finally unzipped it and wiggled out to meet the swim with bare arms and legs. It was a good move.
I started in the front row of girls for my wave, a good positioning judging by the number of silver caps by me as I finished. Next to me was a girl in just a swimsuit who’d written my post title “Wetsuits are for WUSSES” on her cap… to be honest I happened to agree—the water was 70, and after a minute or so it felt really nice. Of course, that minute was a little shocking since I hadn’t warmed up, but still.
Before I knew it we were off. Though normally I would have gone out a little fast to get warmed up and away from the flailing dumbasses around me, I took it easy the entire swim. Within 7 minutes I’d come up on girls from the heat in front of me-- pretty cool. I felt wonderful in the water…smooth, long, efficient. I had to keep reminding myself I was doing this for fun and wasn’t going to blow my load in the first half hour of this ditty so I didn’t speed up. The swim was mostly uneventful despite my ending up in the middle of the bleeping course due to the sun and my difficulty sighting with freaking buoys the size of my freaking head. But I’m not bitter or anything. I cruised out of the water next to the girl I started beside at 33:07. Not my best, and way slower than the 30:34 from ’04. Oh well.
T1 was AWESOME (for me): 2:10, way faster than the 3:00 from ’04. The only thing I’ll mention here is that the Clydesdales/Athenas were on the last rack, which meant they had to run the farthest with their bikes. Does anyone else find this really funny? I did.
The bike was better than I expected. I felt strong and avoided the coasting I normally do on downhills (“What would Greyhound do?”). Nothing really out of the ordinary here except I actually PASSED people. I also was passed, but that’s no surprise; however, I did get passed by a dweeb in an aero helmet about 40 mins in. First of all, dude passed me on a downhill, then quit pedaling so I had to brake to avoid his draft zone. Turd! Not only did he get a 20 min head start on me, it took him another 40 minutes to get by me on the bike with an aero helmet. I swore to loathe this guy the entire race which worked out for me: I passed him 4 times, and he only caught up 3. I blew him off the road on the run. The lesson? If you’re going to pass me, you’d better do it right the first time. I came in at 3:32:41 (16.6 mph pace), not far off the 3:26:27 I posted in my first tri. Sometimes I want to punch 2004 Mishele in the stomach.
T2: 2:11. Smokin! 04’s time? A wussy 3:55.
The run was long, slow, and hot. People quickly trotted past me out of T2, but by the end I caught most of them. My secret? Never stop running, even if some folks are walking faster than my “run.” I only stopped to walk half of the only real hill on the course and each water station. I felt bad, but I was really enjoying the race… I think that might make me creepy. Anyway, I must’ve done something right because check out my last 6 mile splits:
12:30 (hey, I walked to chat with a friend)
11:31
11:26
11:13
10:57
10:20
How cool is that?! I finished the run in 2:30:01 (11:28 pace :-/)a mere 90 seconds from the 2004 posting of 2:28:31. My total time was 6:40:08 compared to the 6:32:25 from my first tri. Considering my training, my pacing, and my initial attitude I did really well. This might be the race I’m most proud of this year behind IM AZ. Sure, it’s kinda slow and I’d expect to have improved in two years instead of slowing down, but I had fun, paced well, nailed my nutrition, and came in 2nd in the Athena division. Yowsa! I was also sore but not handicapped the next day; today I feel like I could do another HIM. Basically it’s the best recovery ever.
And finally, my favorite: the injury report. I’m sunburnt, have 2 chafed underarms, and NO blisters. Not one. The funny thing about this is I brought my new running shoes with me to the race thinking I’d already run in them. I hadn’t. Apparently Mizuno Wave Riders are so awesome they don’t even need breaking in.
Mishele K, welcome to your REAL off season.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
D Race comin up this weekend!
Eek! I've been gone too long. Sorry 'bout that. Now to play catchup.
In my last post I mentioned that I was going to ride the Ironstar course and decide from the experience if I should "participate" in the race, which is this weekend. Well, 2 Saturdays ago I met up with Greyhound to take a ride for what I thought would be law school + tri chats and 59 smooth miles under overcast, cool skies. What I didn't know is the harmless looking Greyhound was trying to kill me.
We started out fine, not really pushing my pace (because we all know he's considerably faster than me). He casually mentioned adding a few miles to the route that would include the most monstrous hills that the area could boast, and I agreed. After all, I am an Ironman, even if an out of shape one. Post-superhills I was still feeling quite smug, so the next route change Greyhound suggested I also agreed to. Then he suggested another. I let my ego and fear of looking like a wuss take the reigns most of the ride, but I didn't feel unusually crappy til we were about 9 miles from home; at that point, I decided that my large chainring would take a union break the rest of the ride, and I spun like a grandma. After a pretty nice 70 mile ride, we turned back into the resort-- Greyhound had failed to kill me on the bike. I win!
But he didn't stop there. Oh no! As I clipped out of my left pedal when I neared my car, I leaned right... and crashed. Not only did I hurt my arm in such a way that I thought I may have broken it (lamest accident ever), but I'd fallen most ungraciously. Let me tell you, there's nothing like looking like an a-hole in front of someone you don't know very well. Still, I had survived what was certainly the result of a certain person putting a certain something in my Gatorade. But I’m not one to point fingers.
After the ride and my klutzy crash we went for a nice baby run; it was starting to get hot, so I was pretty stoked to be finished. We stretched, had a non-brew brew, and continued on with our Saturdays. Despite my arm throbbing, I was still alive and it was a beautiful day. But while on the highway on the ride home, traffic came to a dead stop. I stopped with it with no problem, but as I looked into my rearview mirror I saw some idiot in a Cherokee with her head FACING her daughter. On the highway. In traffic. Going around 40 mph and not far from my non-moving bumper. I’d had enough sense to have stayed in gear, so scooted up and veered out of her way just as she realized the sluttiness of her ways. She missed my car by inches-- and once again an agent of evil for Greyhound failed to snuff me out. I am not to be trifled with.
The rest of my Saturday was pretty fun, so I'll continue sharing. I went home, napped n stuff, then my boyfriend and I had folks over for a pseudo-family friendly Halloween party. The 5 of us made Halloween hats,
carved pumpkins,
and dipped some totally sweet caramel apples. We also watched The Grudge (um, could I have a side of plot with my scary movie PLEASE? I don't think it's asking too much) and downed some Skyline dip (if you don’t know what it is you obviously didn’t have the artery-congesting pleasure of growing up in the ‘Nati. Go Bengals!), beer, and mimosas. It was once again a nearly perfect Saturday.
Sunday I woke up stiff, but not sore. I signed up for Ironstar, but as an Athena (I know, I know... I'm barely there but dammit, there's a weight limit for a reason) and immediately regretted the decision. I vowed to train smart the next two weeks.
One week and three days later I’ve swum exactly once. Crap! In my defense, I was out of town all this past weekend hittin the ‘Lou (Go Cards!) and a wedding. Oh! And work is really busy. And I spent most of the past two weeks holding my breath over my LSAT and the rest of the time scrambling to get my applications ready for the early decision deadline on November 1st. Those are good excuses, right? Besides, this race is my kick in the ass to get training for the off season. Six weeks of sloth is enough, even for an over-consumer such as myself.
I’m off! Perhaps to continue blog updates, finish my personal statement, or keep a lookout for the sly Greyhound...
In my last post I mentioned that I was going to ride the Ironstar course and decide from the experience if I should "participate" in the race, which is this weekend. Well, 2 Saturdays ago I met up with Greyhound to take a ride for what I thought would be law school + tri chats and 59 smooth miles under overcast, cool skies. What I didn't know is the harmless looking Greyhound was trying to kill me.
We started out fine, not really pushing my pace (because we all know he's considerably faster than me). He casually mentioned adding a few miles to the route that would include the most monstrous hills that the area could boast, and I agreed. After all, I am an Ironman, even if an out of shape one. Post-superhills I was still feeling quite smug, so the next route change Greyhound suggested I also agreed to. Then he suggested another. I let my ego and fear of looking like a wuss take the reigns most of the ride, but I didn't feel unusually crappy til we were about 9 miles from home; at that point, I decided that my large chainring would take a union break the rest of the ride, and I spun like a grandma. After a pretty nice 70 mile ride, we turned back into the resort-- Greyhound had failed to kill me on the bike. I win!
But he didn't stop there. Oh no! As I clipped out of my left pedal when I neared my car, I leaned right... and crashed. Not only did I hurt my arm in such a way that I thought I may have broken it (lamest accident ever), but I'd fallen most ungraciously. Let me tell you, there's nothing like looking like an a-hole in front of someone you don't know very well. Still, I had survived what was certainly the result of a certain person putting a certain something in my Gatorade. But I’m not one to point fingers.
After the ride and my klutzy crash we went for a nice baby run; it was starting to get hot, so I was pretty stoked to be finished. We stretched, had a non-brew brew, and continued on with our Saturdays. Despite my arm throbbing, I was still alive and it was a beautiful day. But while on the highway on the ride home, traffic came to a dead stop. I stopped with it with no problem, but as I looked into my rearview mirror I saw some idiot in a Cherokee with her head FACING her daughter. On the highway. In traffic. Going around 40 mph and not far from my non-moving bumper. I’d had enough sense to have stayed in gear, so scooted up and veered out of her way just as she realized the sluttiness of her ways. She missed my car by inches-- and once again an agent of evil for Greyhound failed to snuff me out. I am not to be trifled with.
The rest of my Saturday was pretty fun, so I'll continue sharing. I went home, napped n stuff, then my boyfriend and I had folks over for a pseudo-family friendly Halloween party. The 5 of us made Halloween hats,
carved pumpkins,
and dipped some totally sweet caramel apples. We also watched The Grudge (um, could I have a side of plot with my scary movie PLEASE? I don't think it's asking too much) and downed some Skyline dip (if you don’t know what it is you obviously didn’t have the artery-congesting pleasure of growing up in the ‘Nati. Go Bengals!), beer, and mimosas. It was once again a nearly perfect Saturday.
Sunday I woke up stiff, but not sore. I signed up for Ironstar, but as an Athena (I know, I know... I'm barely there but dammit, there's a weight limit for a reason) and immediately regretted the decision. I vowed to train smart the next two weeks.
One week and three days later I’ve swum exactly once. Crap! In my defense, I was out of town all this past weekend hittin the ‘Lou (Go Cards!) and a wedding. Oh! And work is really busy. And I spent most of the past two weeks holding my breath over my LSAT and the rest of the time scrambling to get my applications ready for the early decision deadline on November 1st. Those are good excuses, right? Besides, this race is my kick in the ass to get training for the off season. Six weeks of sloth is enough, even for an over-consumer such as myself.
I’m off! Perhaps to continue blog updates, finish my personal statement, or keep a lookout for the sly Greyhound...
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Help a brother out
I’m in a pickle.
17 days from now there’s a race in which I’ve planned to compete all season: the Ironstar half iron. Ironstar was my very first triathlon two years ago, and the bike course is sorta my home course after all the hours I laid on it this summer while training for Wisconsin. Add to this that “all my friends” (except for greyhound of course) will be racing up there two Sundays from now (AND I need to get in an October race for my Snickers Marathon sponsorship) and I find myself seriously pressured to hop on that bandwagon and race my little heart out. I should sign up, right?
I think so. My boyfriend disagrees, saying it’s “dangerous.” I don’t know why... he is a thenthitive boy after all, and everyone knows thenthitive boys tend to be (over)protective. I’m sure his concern is based in emotional overreaction and not the fact that until Monday’s beerathon I hadn’t run since that pesky 26.2 in Madison. And of course he’s not taking into account that my bike hasn’t even been cleaned from the ravaging it suffered a month ago (though I did ride it once... for 7 miles). Yes, my hunney-punkin is just being silly. Normally I’d just ignore him, but this week I’ve had a revelation that makes me think he may have more sense than me.
I went home last weekend to bring all my junk to Texas (it’s been in storage for the past two years), and the reunion with my stuff got me reflecting on, you know, my life. I noticed that the common denominator in a LOT of my decisions in life--from doing well in high school so I could get the hell outta Dodge to doing 3 marathons without training--has been defiance. I only seem motivated by proving others wrong. That’s how I ended up at Ironstar the first time: some lame-ass friend told me I couldn’t prepare for the HIM distance in 6 weeks. Clearly this boy is dumb, and I had the time of my life and my fastest bike split to date despite doing some sprints this year (sigh... I’m slow). Moving on-- The point is, I’m stubborn and maybe I shouldn’t be.
The realization that I sorta only do stuff to prove others wrong is making me doubt myself. I really really wanna do the race--I don’t even want to go fast. I just want to participate. Of course, there’s the remote possibility that maybe my boyfriend is right. As if to echo his words, I was a teensy weensy bit sore on Wed after a 3ish mile jaunt on Tuesday (Of course, if you’d dared me I could have pulled another 10ish from my hiney, especially if there was anything over $1 on the line). SO, in an attempt to be a rational, safe adult I am riding the Ironstar course on Saturday at a modest pace. If I feel okay I’m signing up for the race (and I’m racing as an Athena to minimize my “24 in the 25-29 age group” bitterness. Oh, and if there was any Athena doubt on the scale a month ago, there isn’t now). If not, I’m going to get off my fat ass and get to work on my running/off season training.
Any words of wisdom from the crowd?
P.S. Yes, I participated in a beerathon on Monday night. One beer to chug, one mile run, one chug, one mile, one chug. There’s no official award, but the crowd tells me I was the best chugger there. Now if I can get that silly “run” part of the race under my belt I shall rule the beerathon world in 2007! Still, my mile splits were 7:50 and ~8:20... not embarrassing.
P.P.S. Who puts on such a wonderful event? Oh, only the coolest tri club in the country. Eat your heart out distant triers!
17 days from now there’s a race in which I’ve planned to compete all season: the Ironstar half iron. Ironstar was my very first triathlon two years ago, and the bike course is sorta my home course after all the hours I laid on it this summer while training for Wisconsin. Add to this that “all my friends” (except for greyhound of course) will be racing up there two Sundays from now (AND I need to get in an October race for my Snickers Marathon sponsorship) and I find myself seriously pressured to hop on that bandwagon and race my little heart out. I should sign up, right?
I think so. My boyfriend disagrees, saying it’s “dangerous.” I don’t know why... he is a thenthitive boy after all, and everyone knows thenthitive boys tend to be (over)protective. I’m sure his concern is based in emotional overreaction and not the fact that until Monday’s beerathon I hadn’t run since that pesky 26.2 in Madison. And of course he’s not taking into account that my bike hasn’t even been cleaned from the ravaging it suffered a month ago (though I did ride it once... for 7 miles). Yes, my hunney-punkin is just being silly. Normally I’d just ignore him, but this week I’ve had a revelation that makes me think he may have more sense than me.
I went home last weekend to bring all my junk to Texas (it’s been in storage for the past two years), and the reunion with my stuff got me reflecting on, you know, my life. I noticed that the common denominator in a LOT of my decisions in life--from doing well in high school so I could get the hell outta Dodge to doing 3 marathons without training--has been defiance. I only seem motivated by proving others wrong. That’s how I ended up at Ironstar the first time: some lame-ass friend told me I couldn’t prepare for the HIM distance in 6 weeks. Clearly this boy is dumb, and I had the time of my life and my fastest bike split to date despite doing some sprints this year (sigh... I’m slow). Moving on-- The point is, I’m stubborn and maybe I shouldn’t be.
The realization that I sorta only do stuff to prove others wrong is making me doubt myself. I really really wanna do the race--I don’t even want to go fast. I just want to participate. Of course, there’s the remote possibility that maybe my boyfriend is right. As if to echo his words, I was a teensy weensy bit sore on Wed after a 3ish mile jaunt on Tuesday (Of course, if you’d dared me I could have pulled another 10ish from my hiney, especially if there was anything over $1 on the line). SO, in an attempt to be a rational, safe adult I am riding the Ironstar course on Saturday at a modest pace. If I feel okay I’m signing up for the race (and I’m racing as an Athena to minimize my “24 in the 25-29 age group” bitterness. Oh, and if there was any Athena doubt on the scale a month ago, there isn’t now). If not, I’m going to get off my fat ass and get to work on my running/off season training.
Any words of wisdom from the crowd?
P.S. Yes, I participated in a beerathon on Monday night. One beer to chug, one mile run, one chug, one mile, one chug. There’s no official award, but the crowd tells me I was the best chugger there. Now if I can get that silly “run” part of the race under my belt I shall rule the beerathon world in 2007! Still, my mile splits were 7:50 and ~8:20... not embarrassing.
P.P.S. Who puts on such a wonderful event? Oh, only the coolest tri club in the country. Eat your heart out distant triers!
Monday, October 02, 2006
Hair-brained idea
I got a hair cut last week. Now I’m writing about it. “Lame!” you’re probably yelling. Indeed, it is a lame blog post. Of course, if you don’t like it you’re welcome to leave my virtual dump spot in the woods of the internet. Shyeah.
Anyway, I went to get my rat’s nest chopped because I’ve had it with my gross hair. After complaining for months I finally broke down and shelled out some dough to go to my friend’s hair dresser at some snooty salon because said friend told me this girl was good; citysearch confirmed this. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough, but this salon also served wine, and I’m not one to resist positive hair transformation + an alcoholic beverage. 30 minutes before my appointment I hopped in my truck, arrived at the salon, and I took pictures for my “before” shot. Sure, I could have asked someone at work or asked my new best friend the hair dresser to take them for me but I would have felt silly (incidentally, I also felt silly for taking pictures of myself in the parking lot).
After documenting my vanity on film I headed in, put on the shirt/smock they gave me, and got my hair washed. So far so good. Next I got in the chair, ready to get my hair hacked off. The conversation with the dresser--let’s call her Gertrude from now on--didn’t go as expected.
Gertrude [lifting my hair about 3” higher around my face]: Is this what you were looking for?
(Keep in my I asked to “cut it all off,” which to me means, well, cut all my hair off.)
Me: Um, shorter.
Gertrude [frowns]: How tall are you?
Me: Um, 5-8.
G [with a tsssk noise of uncertainty]: You see, with your height and your long neck I wouldn’t cut your hair any shorter. Otherwise, your head might look too small in proportion to your body.
Let’s pause. The bitch basically told me I’d have a pinhead if I didn’t keep my hair longer than chin length. What she should have said was “Oh, with your graceful neck and lovely face you’ll look 15 pounds lighter than you do now. Really, you are quite model-esque. I simply must see if you can be in our salon ads.” But she didn’t because Gertrude is a bitch. I’ll continue.
Me [obviously offended and rightfully so]: Well I’ve had it short before and no one’s ever told me my head looked too small. I, um, look good with short hair.
(“Good” might be an exaggeration but I’m pretty freaking sure I don’t look pinhead-y)
G: Oh, I just want to be sure I know what you want since it will be so drastic of a cut. [big fake smile]
Man, what a ho. So she cuts my hair, which is still a smidge (sp? I so do not know how to spell smidge) longer than I want it, but it looks good once she’s finished. I’m happy, and I somehow don’t notice that I failed to see how she styled it (since she blew my contact out of my eye but continued drying/styling my hair anyway... we both finished our activities at about the same time) nor what product she used. It’s possible I would’ve remembered to ask if the hair washer and the hair-sweeper-upper weren’t commenting on how much younger and better I looked (the hair sweeper upper remarked in Spanish to Gerty, not to me--which makes me think her comment was more truthful). As if I walked in there looking like an old hag or something! Honestly, how does a 24 year old girl look OLD?? I still don’t know if I should be offended at their “before” comments or pleased with their “after” ones.
While Miss Gertrude is chopping my frizz ‘fro off, she commented ~4 times about how I needed some “paint on my face.” After my cut she led me to the makeup girl so she could “make me look really pretty.” By this point I’m more than a little peeved because I’m pay $8 million to endure comments that are genuinely tearing down my self esteem. What hell kinda salon is this? Anyway, makeup girl basically just throws some blush, lip gloss, and mascara on me and I pay, leave a tip I begrudge, and leave. But despite the experience, I look pretty and am relieved to look different. Oh, I again take pictures, but this time I take them in the mirror of my apt despite the fact that Craig was home and could much more easily have done it.
So here’s my 43 year old before:
And my 24 year old after (remember it’s a mirror image in our warm bathroom lighting):
The haircut isn’t 100% what I wanted, and the next day I made the mistake of “fixing” it myself. It therefore looks worse now than it did then. I’m awesome. But more importantly, having not-disgusting hair has been a true wake-up call for me. I pride myself on being very natural, having no fashion sense, and saving my money to splurge on $200 SIDI T1 cycling shoes, not a hot pair of pumps. I like being plain because the others’ expectations are so low, but I still have the potential to doll up, making the effect much more dramatic. That said, I realize that I’ve taken it to too great of an extreme and it seems like I don’t take pride in how I look. A mistake! So I started wearing some makeup some days and--next month when I again have money--will buy clothes that are a little newer and more flattering than the shirt I have on today, which I purchased when I was 19. Mishele K, it just might be time to grow up... and let your hair grow out so you don’t look like a pinhead.
Anyway, I went to get my rat’s nest chopped because I’ve had it with my gross hair. After complaining for months I finally broke down and shelled out some dough to go to my friend’s hair dresser at some snooty salon because said friend told me this girl was good; citysearch confirmed this. Normally that wouldn’t have been enough, but this salon also served wine, and I’m not one to resist positive hair transformation + an alcoholic beverage. 30 minutes before my appointment I hopped in my truck, arrived at the salon, and I took pictures for my “before” shot. Sure, I could have asked someone at work or asked my new best friend the hair dresser to take them for me but I would have felt silly (incidentally, I also felt silly for taking pictures of myself in the parking lot).
After documenting my vanity on film I headed in, put on the shirt/smock they gave me, and got my hair washed. So far so good. Next I got in the chair, ready to get my hair hacked off. The conversation with the dresser--let’s call her Gertrude from now on--didn’t go as expected.
Gertrude [lifting my hair about 3” higher around my face]: Is this what you were looking for?
(Keep in my I asked to “cut it all off,” which to me means, well, cut all my hair off.)
Me: Um, shorter.
Gertrude [frowns]: How tall are you?
Me: Um, 5-8.
G [with a tsssk noise of uncertainty]: You see, with your height and your long neck I wouldn’t cut your hair any shorter. Otherwise, your head might look too small in proportion to your body.
Let’s pause. The bitch basically told me I’d have a pinhead if I didn’t keep my hair longer than chin length. What she should have said was “Oh, with your graceful neck and lovely face you’ll look 15 pounds lighter than you do now. Really, you are quite model-esque. I simply must see if you can be in our salon ads.” But she didn’t because Gertrude is a bitch. I’ll continue.
Me [obviously offended and rightfully so]: Well I’ve had it short before and no one’s ever told me my head looked too small. I, um, look good with short hair.
(“Good” might be an exaggeration but I’m pretty freaking sure I don’t look pinhead-y)
G: Oh, I just want to be sure I know what you want since it will be so drastic of a cut. [big fake smile]
Man, what a ho. So she cuts my hair, which is still a smidge (sp? I so do not know how to spell smidge) longer than I want it, but it looks good once she’s finished. I’m happy, and I somehow don’t notice that I failed to see how she styled it (since she blew my contact out of my eye but continued drying/styling my hair anyway... we both finished our activities at about the same time) nor what product she used. It’s possible I would’ve remembered to ask if the hair washer and the hair-sweeper-upper weren’t commenting on how much younger and better I looked (the hair sweeper upper remarked in Spanish to Gerty, not to me--which makes me think her comment was more truthful). As if I walked in there looking like an old hag or something! Honestly, how does a 24 year old girl look OLD?? I still don’t know if I should be offended at their “before” comments or pleased with their “after” ones.
While Miss Gertrude is chopping my frizz ‘fro off, she commented ~4 times about how I needed some “paint on my face.” After my cut she led me to the makeup girl so she could “make me look really pretty.” By this point I’m more than a little peeved because I’m pay $8 million to endure comments that are genuinely tearing down my self esteem. What hell kinda salon is this? Anyway, makeup girl basically just throws some blush, lip gloss, and mascara on me and I pay, leave a tip I begrudge, and leave. But despite the experience, I look pretty and am relieved to look different. Oh, I again take pictures, but this time I take them in the mirror of my apt despite the fact that Craig was home and could much more easily have done it.
So here’s my 43 year old before:
And my 24 year old after (remember it’s a mirror image in our warm bathroom lighting):
The haircut isn’t 100% what I wanted, and the next day I made the mistake of “fixing” it myself. It therefore looks worse now than it did then. I’m awesome. But more importantly, having not-disgusting hair has been a true wake-up call for me. I pride myself on being very natural, having no fashion sense, and saving my money to splurge on $200 SIDI T1 cycling shoes, not a hot pair of pumps. I like being plain because the others’ expectations are so low, but I still have the potential to doll up, making the effect much more dramatic. That said, I realize that I’ve taken it to too great of an extreme and it seems like I don’t take pride in how I look. A mistake! So I started wearing some makeup some days and--next month when I again have money--will buy clothes that are a little newer and more flattering than the shirt I have on today, which I purchased when I was 19. Mishele K, it just might be time to grow up... and let your hair grow out so you don’t look like a pinhead.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
I have recently come into a large sum of money
And when I say "I" I really mean the OCRF. We're tight like that. Okay, maybe we're not but that's my post title, dammit.
I started this post on Monday, the day our air conditioning hadn’t been working for about two days. I was miserable--as was our whole apartment, which was a roasting 85 day and night. Bummer, I know. To cheer myself up, I decided to post my final race report from Wisconsin: my Janus Charity Challenge numbers. Much to the disappointment of my dramatic side, the A/C was fixed long before I finished this, so I abandoned the effort. I know that doesn’t make logical sense, but that’s just how I work.
With the help of my family, friends, and amazingly supportive tri community here in H-town I raised $5635 plus a match from Janus for $750--bringing the total gift to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund to $6385. Holy shit!
I loathe fundraising. I hated selling calendars for Girl Scouts, and I ate more candy bars for school sales than I dreamt of selling. In college I’d pay to get out of Thurtene fundraising even though I was broke. Selling stuff I didn’t like and asking people for money felt dirty, and the feeling is compounded by my hating to ask for any type of help. For this particular round of fundraising I felt a lot less bad about asking, but also wanted to give people the opportunity to donate in hopes of getting something in return; the raffle was born, and I decided to write the Houston businesses I loved to see if they could donate anything. Of the 75 letters I sent out, I only received maybe 12-15 positive responses, but the prize pool ended up being around $700 worth of stuff. Apparently all you have to do is ask.
Anyway, here are some neat numbers I found:
$ from family-- $1400
$ from friends-- $1962
$ from Houston Racing Triathlon Club-- $1216
$ from Texas-- $2860
$ from non-TX-- $2775
$ from folks I’ve never met-- $1301
$ from work-- $1156
$ from the raffle ~$775
Clearly the numbers overlap in some places, but that’s a lot of money from a lot of different folks. Some donated because I did an Ironman, and some people just wanted to support me. Others knew my mom or my aunt (who also died of ovarian cancer), and still more lost someone they loved to the disease. No matter what the motive it was very touching, and more than one training session found me thinking about how lucky I am to be surrounded with such caring people. I don’t do much sap, but I’ve been a total baby about this from day one... thanks guys.
I know you're not supposed to get competitive with this kind of thing, BUT I simply can't help my nature. :) I'm pretty proud to have been ~15th of the 50+ athletes in the Janus Charity Challenge at Wisconsin when ranked by how much moolah raised (NOT finishing time). I wish I could get the exact number but they pulled the search for WI 06 athletes after the race and don't publish such things (besides, what kind of self-involved prick would care about a charity ranking? Besides me of course). What's important is the effort, right?
Okay, no more WI stuff. And no more excuses for my recent fusion to the couch and cheese. I'll start training again... this weekend. ;-)
I started this post on Monday, the day our air conditioning hadn’t been working for about two days. I was miserable--as was our whole apartment, which was a roasting 85 day and night. Bummer, I know. To cheer myself up, I decided to post my final race report from Wisconsin: my Janus Charity Challenge numbers. Much to the disappointment of my dramatic side, the A/C was fixed long before I finished this, so I abandoned the effort. I know that doesn’t make logical sense, but that’s just how I work.
With the help of my family, friends, and amazingly supportive tri community here in H-town I raised $5635 plus a match from Janus for $750--bringing the total gift to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund to $6385. Holy shit!
I loathe fundraising. I hated selling calendars for Girl Scouts, and I ate more candy bars for school sales than I dreamt of selling. In college I’d pay to get out of Thurtene fundraising even though I was broke. Selling stuff I didn’t like and asking people for money felt dirty, and the feeling is compounded by my hating to ask for any type of help. For this particular round of fundraising I felt a lot less bad about asking, but also wanted to give people the opportunity to donate in hopes of getting something in return; the raffle was born, and I decided to write the Houston businesses I loved to see if they could donate anything. Of the 75 letters I sent out, I only received maybe 12-15 positive responses, but the prize pool ended up being around $700 worth of stuff. Apparently all you have to do is ask.
Anyway, here are some neat numbers I found:
$ from family-- $1400
$ from friends-- $1962
$ from Houston Racing Triathlon Club-- $1216
$ from Texas-- $2860
$ from non-TX-- $2775
$ from folks I’ve never met-- $1301
$ from work-- $1156
$ from the raffle ~$775
Clearly the numbers overlap in some places, but that’s a lot of money from a lot of different folks. Some donated because I did an Ironman, and some people just wanted to support me. Others knew my mom or my aunt (who also died of ovarian cancer), and still more lost someone they loved to the disease. No matter what the motive it was very touching, and more than one training session found me thinking about how lucky I am to be surrounded with such caring people. I don’t do much sap, but I’ve been a total baby about this from day one... thanks guys.
I know you're not supposed to get competitive with this kind of thing, BUT I simply can't help my nature. :) I'm pretty proud to have been ~15th of the 50+ athletes in the Janus Charity Challenge at Wisconsin when ranked by how much moolah raised (NOT finishing time). I wish I could get the exact number but they pulled the search for WI 06 athletes after the race and don't publish such things (besides, what kind of self-involved prick would care about a charity ranking? Besides me of course). What's important is the effort, right?
Okay, no more WI stuff. And no more excuses for my recent fusion to the couch and cheese. I'll start training again... this weekend. ;-)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Race report
So here’s the report. In case you’re wondering I made none of my time goals, but I held it together pretty well with most of the other ones (except the pics... they’re awful). I also placed really poorly in my age group, but I was okay with it—those girls were fast and weren’t messing around. Anyway--
The Swim
The course: two loop, wade start. The day before I’d hesitated mightily to get in the water, but found I was being silly—despite the chilly air, the lake was very comfortable, almost warm. The water wasn’t especially clear or cloudy, just a normal lake. Like I mentioned yesterday, I don’t care much for double loops, but the water itself was a-okay with me. On race day I found George and Ben on my way to the water, and we laughed and joked while we waded out to the start. It was relaxed, fun--like college but with wetsuits and better bodies. I opted to start about 10 feet in front of them, and we started drifting apart. We wished each other luck and I tried to put my game face on.
I like to start swims on the front line and out to the side; it’s worked for me so far in these things. The canon boomed and the melee began. I’m used to getting the “swim beating” for about 5-10 minutes, then having the place clear out for the most part. While I started this race in the same spot, I never cleared the water traffic. Most of the thrashing and punching was accidental, but it never seems that way when you’re the one who was punched in the face. There are people who do that crap on purpose, and I’m ashamed to say it occurred to me at one point to deliver a well-timed jab. Of course, my jabs wouldn’t be well timed, and my one attempt to intentionally push someone ended up reaching only water. I took it as a sign I wasn’t meant to be a swim brutalizer and should just keep moving.
At the first turnaround buoy the water got rougher. Since I haven’t open water raced since June I forgot that you can’t take your breaths for granted, and this is especially true in choppy water. I tried to keep my cool, swim straight, and work with the waves, but I had a sinking feeling my swim would be bad. The second loop was more of the same: struggling bodies and waves. I emerged from the water at 1:09:42, 4 minutes after my original (silly) goal. While this isn't a time to be proud of, I did beat 2 female pros-- kinda cool.
I like to start swims on the front line and out to the side; it’s worked for me so far in these things. The canon boomed and the melee began. I’m used to getting the “swim beating” for about 5-10 minutes, then having the place clear out for the most part. While I started this race in the same spot, I never cleared the water traffic. Most of the thrashing and punching was accidental, but it never seems that way when you’re the one who was punched in the face. There are people who do that crap on purpose, and I’m ashamed to say it occurred to me at one point to deliver a well-timed jab. Of course, my jabs wouldn’t be well timed, and my one attempt to intentionally push someone ended up reaching only water. I took it as a sign I wasn’t meant to be a swim brutalizer and should just keep moving.
At the first turnaround buoy the water got rougher. Since I haven’t open water raced since June I forgot that you can’t take your breaths for granted, and this is especially true in choppy water. I tried to keep my cool, swim straight, and work with the waves, but I had a sinking feeling my swim would be bad. The second loop was more of the same: struggling bodies and waves. I emerged from the water at 1:09:42, 4 minutes after my original (silly) goal. While this isn't a time to be proud of, I did beat 2 female pros-- kinda cool.
T1
Though my time doesn’t show it (7:45) I had a great Mishele T1. I got my wetsuit stripped by an efficient stripper (tee hee), got my stuff together, thanked at least 3 people for their help, and headed out. What took so long? Running up that parking helix, running into the building, then running down a very long transition. Again, I lucked out because my bike was right near the mount line, so my time should have been way worse. I really liked changing indoors because the carpet was so warm and soft under my bare feet; it was also nice knowing my clothes weren’t getting soaked in the rain, which came later. The only bad thing I guess I’d add is my cap got lost in the shuffle, and I really like the IM caps b/c they’re the original small Speedo ones--the best for training unless you have 12 feet of hair to tuck under that cap. Oh well... no sense in lamenting over a $1.50 cap that I got for free.
The Bike
The bike started by riding down another parking helix, which was way funner than running up one. I felt really good but was determined to go very easy til the second loop. Despite my efforts I was riding really fast for me, and I can only assume it was a tailwind helping me along. The drizzle that had begun when I got on the bike never let up, but it was still feeling like a beautiful day. I decided I’d be positive for the first 60 miles no matter how I felt; if I could do that, I could endure another 52 with some semblance of joy. So yeah, the ride out was fast and lots of people passed me, as always. I kept waiting for George and Ben to whoosh by since they are both strong cyclists, and finally Ben pulled alongside me at mile 24.9 (couldn’t he have waited til 25? Sigh). I saw him again at 30 because he stopped to pee. We chatted about the upcoming “hilly part” (funny because a lot of it is hilly) and I told Ben I had yet to see George... strange. He continued on his badass way and two hills later I met up with George. I never saw the two again til the run where they were kicking some serious Ironman booty--it was very inspiring. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The course was as hilly as it had been the day before (I hit a new high speed of 42.8 mph-- while braking!), though it was a bit less scenic due to the dreary weather. Still, it was a nice trip out to the country, and locals lined the roads with cow bells, radios, and lots of enthusiastic cheering. At the top of one especially long hill there was even a guy handing out sausages, and while I knew it was a bad idea I simply couldn’t resist. That sausage tasted so good! I also got lucky and didn’t suffer any consequences for letting my bravado control my nutrition. Speaking of nutrition, I did okay with the eating on the bike, but wasn’t very thirsty; when I stopped at 56 and 80 miles to pee what seemed like gallons, I finally decided that I wasn’t drinking unless I was thirsty for the rest of the ride.
At mile 62 my back started to feel crummy. It was unexpected since it normally doesn’t bother me too much, but I was hardly surprised--it’s an ironman, right? Earlier in the day I’d grinned at the thought of getting a “hard” race to do: rain, cool weather, and a tough course. It would be a day I’d have to earn my stripes. By my pit stop at 80 I wasn’t feeling the challenge, but I was lucky to still be riding... All day ambulances screamed down the road with regularity. Chilling, especially when I thought how it could just as easily be me skidding off the road with my numb hands and feet controlling my ride.
Though I hadn’t worked hard in the first loop at all, I barely survived the second one. The wind picked up and my emotions went all crazy-haywire, and it was with great relief that I turned to head back to T2. In the last 5 miles about 30 people passed me, but I my ego wasn't engaged enough to try to stick with them. Finally I got to the parking garage helix I would have to ride up; I wondered briefly if anyone had walked up it so that I'd be excused if I had to. I thought it would totally suck riding up that thing, but there was no wind or rain on most of the ramp, which was really all that came to my mind when I got to climbing. Finally, I dismounted (clumsily) and gratefully met an indoor T2 after 7:33:06 in the saddle.
The course was as hilly as it had been the day before (I hit a new high speed of 42.8 mph-- while braking!), though it was a bit less scenic due to the dreary weather. Still, it was a nice trip out to the country, and locals lined the roads with cow bells, radios, and lots of enthusiastic cheering. At the top of one especially long hill there was even a guy handing out sausages, and while I knew it was a bad idea I simply couldn’t resist. That sausage tasted so good! I also got lucky and didn’t suffer any consequences for letting my bravado control my nutrition. Speaking of nutrition, I did okay with the eating on the bike, but wasn’t very thirsty; when I stopped at 56 and 80 miles to pee what seemed like gallons, I finally decided that I wasn’t drinking unless I was thirsty for the rest of the ride.
At mile 62 my back started to feel crummy. It was unexpected since it normally doesn’t bother me too much, but I was hardly surprised--it’s an ironman, right? Earlier in the day I’d grinned at the thought of getting a “hard” race to do: rain, cool weather, and a tough course. It would be a day I’d have to earn my stripes. By my pit stop at 80 I wasn’t feeling the challenge, but I was lucky to still be riding... All day ambulances screamed down the road with regularity. Chilling, especially when I thought how it could just as easily be me skidding off the road with my numb hands and feet controlling my ride.
Though I hadn’t worked hard in the first loop at all, I barely survived the second one. The wind picked up and my emotions went all crazy-haywire, and it was with great relief that I turned to head back to T2. In the last 5 miles about 30 people passed me, but I my ego wasn't engaged enough to try to stick with them. Finally I got to the parking garage helix I would have to ride up; I wondered briefly if anyone had walked up it so that I'd be excused if I had to. I thought it would totally suck riding up that thing, but there was no wind or rain on most of the ramp, which was really all that came to my mind when I got to climbing. Finally, I dismounted (clumsily) and gratefully met an indoor T2 after 7:33:06 in the saddle.
T2
I ran into the building, got my bike to run bag, and hit the ladies changing room. Then I started to cry because that’s what I do. After about 10 seconds I got hold of myself, but didn’t make much progress changing with my cold fingers. About that time a volunteer came over to help me put on my clothes. I felt like so helpless and lame before her--and grateful for her help. While we negotiated my running top and mittens she told me with a touch of worry that her son was still on the bike course. Let me pause to say how much I love people who will sacrifice the 7 seconds they’ll see their loved one at some point on the course just to volunteer to help miserable strangers like me--I’d truly have been a mess without her. I hope her son finished okay.
The Run
The run
Out of T2 (a sluggish 10:06) I started worrying about my time, but what could I do? I was going as hard as I could. As I left Monona I watched the winner come through the chute, which strangely inspired the thought, “26.2 miles isn’t that far.” Clearly I’m on drugs. I shuffled along for a few miles, seeing George and Ben going the other direction and looking pretty cheerful. I got excited; having friends on the course is really nice, and though I didn’t like the out-and-back format, it allowed me to see my buds twice each despite their awesome performances (George finished in 11:45 and Ben in 13:30!).
The only reason I got through the run in less than 6 hours is because of Diane from Chicago. We met walking up a hill around mile 5 (where she’d already made up over 5 minutes on me). We chatted and I decided to shed my lazy pace to stay with her. At mile 8 I started slowing down again and thanked her for running with me, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Running is like dating,” she replied. “You just gotta make sacrifices.” We slowed a little but stayed together. Later when she started feeling like dog poop, I was more than willing to walk for a bit... even so, she definitely sacrificed minutes of her time to stay with me. Our time was slower than we both wanted but I was grateful to share the experience with someone.
The run was basically cold and dark and nothing earth shattering happened. Things of note could be running on the UW football field and my extreme chafing that would have forced me to take off my shorts had I been wearing underwear, but neither truly stuck out in my mind. Ultimately it was a long, slow 26.2.
I was so relieved to finish. I’d picked it up at mile 25 but when I made my last turn my heart sank a bit. In front of me was a man running with his small son to the finish, and I thought I’d have to walk across the line since there was no way I was ruining their moment just to knock a few seconds off my time by passing them. I jogged behind them for a few seconds, then realized we were just getting to the 13.1 turnaround--the finish was still beyond! I carefully passed them and crossed the line with a 5:25:22 marathon.
Out of T2 (a sluggish 10:06) I started worrying about my time, but what could I do? I was going as hard as I could. As I left Monona I watched the winner come through the chute, which strangely inspired the thought, “26.2 miles isn’t that far.” Clearly I’m on drugs. I shuffled along for a few miles, seeing George and Ben going the other direction and looking pretty cheerful. I got excited; having friends on the course is really nice, and though I didn’t like the out-and-back format, it allowed me to see my buds twice each despite their awesome performances (George finished in 11:45 and Ben in 13:30!).
The only reason I got through the run in less than 6 hours is because of Diane from Chicago. We met walking up a hill around mile 5 (where she’d already made up over 5 minutes on me). We chatted and I decided to shed my lazy pace to stay with her. At mile 8 I started slowing down again and thanked her for running with me, but she wouldn’t hear it. “Running is like dating,” she replied. “You just gotta make sacrifices.” We slowed a little but stayed together. Later when she started feeling like dog poop, I was more than willing to walk for a bit... even so, she definitely sacrificed minutes of her time to stay with me. Our time was slower than we both wanted but I was grateful to share the experience with someone.
The run was basically cold and dark and nothing earth shattering happened. Things of note could be running on the UW football field and my extreme chafing that would have forced me to take off my shorts had I been wearing underwear, but neither truly stuck out in my mind. Ultimately it was a long, slow 26.2.
I was so relieved to finish. I’d picked it up at mile 25 but when I made my last turn my heart sank a bit. In front of me was a man running with his small son to the finish, and I thought I’d have to walk across the line since there was no way I was ruining their moment just to knock a few seconds off my time by passing them. I jogged behind them for a few seconds, then realized we were just getting to the 13.1 turnaround--the finish was still beyond! I carefully passed them and crossed the line with a 5:25:22 marathon.
The Aftermath
At the finish they always hold up a banner for you to cross to make your moment and picture that much cooler, but I always feel silly; my photo shows this with my rolled/half closed eyes and drunken smile on my face (at 14:26:01). Diane crossed a few seconds later, and we thanked each other for the run company. I got my medal, bag, etc (and got to keep my timing chip bracelet thingy, which was cool and unexpected) and met with my roommate. Did I cry? NO! I didn’t do lots of things well this race but I did do that. After snagging some pizza/Diet Coke we headed to the car. That basically ended the glamorous part of the night... I went home to really bad chafing and lots of wet stinky clothes. Roomie was great about dropping off my bike with Tribike Transport and general assistance with my junk, which made this trip a lot easier than Arizona. Friends are nice to have around.
Overall, Wisconsin was many times harder than Arizona--the weather, the hills, and the lines. Maybe it’s not fair to compare the larger IM WI to IM AZ, but I just wasn’t impressed with the former’s facilities or organization... one day once I’ve gotten to all the North American Ironman races I’ll have a better sample to compare this place to. And though I swore on Monday I’d never be back to IM in Madison again, I knew I was lying; I’ll be back for this course, just not next year. Heh, maybe I’ll wait til I move somewhere with a fall, winter, and hills before I do so, but I’ll be back. And I’m bringing arm warmers! :-)
Overall, Wisconsin was many times harder than Arizona--the weather, the hills, and the lines. Maybe it’s not fair to compare the larger IM WI to IM AZ, but I just wasn’t impressed with the former’s facilities or organization... one day once I’ve gotten to all the North American Ironman races I’ll have a better sample to compare this place to. And though I swore on Monday I’d never be back to IM in Madison again, I knew I was lying; I’ll be back for this course, just not next year. Heh, maybe I’ll wait til I move somewhere with a fall, winter, and hills before I do so, but I’ll be back. And I’m bringing arm warmers! :-)
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Wisconsin: the second state in the Union in which I refuse to live
Hey! I’m alive... barely. My race--the whole trip--did not go as planned, but I made it. I had a nice little race report on my laptop last night, but managed to run out of batteries while insisting on not saving; you’re going to have to wait a day to hear about the race. But you can hear about the pre-race activities and my overall impressions of Madison, Ironman WI, and the great cheese state itself. Neat, huh?
I arrived in Milwaukee on Friday morning to dry weather and the mid 70s. I shivered getting off the plane. My roommate and I got our luggage, hopped in the rental, and drove the 75 or so minutes to Madison. Before we entered Monona Terrace in Madison so that I could register, we were definitely in the top 5% of the thinnest people in the state. Wisconsin seems quite, um, pale and heavyset. Once we walked into Monona Terrace, however, we became just about the fattest people in view. Of course, we’re kind of used to that at these races. We found a restroom, then hopped in a reeediculously long line for registration. While stuck in the line for about 1/2 hour (til we got a sheet of paper, then moved to another reeediculously long line), we were subjected to the conversations of those around us.
I’m not sure I’ve made this as clear as I could, but I utterly dislike Ironmen. And their conversations in line. So, roomie and I made fun of the jerks around us (and those wretched WI accents) for a good 90 minutes before I finally got my wristband and freedom. Next we went up to Inside Out Sports to buy some CO2 cartridges and look around (and stand in another unbefreakinglievably long line). After that we headed to the expo, which was the worst expo ever. PowerBar wasn’t even there, and Clif wasn’t handing out packets of their drinks, only teensy samples. I was annoyed; here I was, wasting a day of vacation, paying for parking, and did I get to score some recovery drink powder samples? Heck no. After I checked in for the Janus Charity Challenge (I raised over $5600! Thanks to everyone who donated! There’ll be a special party in heaven for you!), we headed down to pick up my bike from TriBike Transport--who, by the way, I’d recommend 100 times over. Very friendly, very easy, and I got a free Headsweats visor. Woohoo!
The rest of Friday was spent unpacking, eating dinner with friends, and organizing my crap for what looked like a chilly race day. The prediction: 62 with 30% chance of rain. 30% isn’t much, right? Right. So it was okay I didn’t look for arm warmers til Saturday when they were sold out all over the city because 30% rounds down to 0, and if it did rain even 30% of the day, it’d only be 7.2 hours. Right? Right.
Wrong... but that’s another story. Onto Saturday. I got up (alone... my roommate stayed out with his college buddies), ran and rode around the hotel, then headed back to Monona for a quick dip in the lake. The water was warm, and my swim out was smooth and quick; the current was obviously pushing me along. I decided to cross the swim course and head back so that I could feel the water from every angle I would the next day. When crossing the course I got pummeled. Crushed. The waves were rocking and punching, but when I turned to finally head back I was greeted with an easy swim again. I could handle the thin sections of the course being rough, I thought. After my swim I ran into George and Ben at the expo/transition (I was on a rack right next to the pros and with only 3 bikes! How awesome!), and we hung around and decided to drive the bike course together in the afternoon. We parted ways, I farted around the next few hours, then met up with the guys again to see what I’d be facing on two wheels on Sunday.
I mentioned last post I’d watched Simply Stu’s videos of the course. Due to the speed required to get the entire thing in 30 mintues, the bike one is not representative of the actual course--even though it is the actual course. I'd advise driving the course before deciding what you can actually do on race day. George and I got the Basically Ben tour from our favorite local, which gave us insights into when to eat, what corners to watch, what roads were crappy (think ~80 miles of them... grr), what hills were tough. I knew my goals were screwed by the time I dropped them off--the swim was looking to be choppy, the bike challenging, and the run boring. This wasn’t a PR race situation, but I tried to stay positive; after all, I wasn’t even at the starting line and I disliked the race site, avoided most other competitors, and feared the wretched weather. If I kept being Negative Nellie I wasn’t going to finish.
But I did finish--in 14:26:01. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. My original goal was 13:40 or so, and my during-the-race goal was to break 15 hours. I landed somewhere in the middle, and that’s okay. Maybe if I’d gotten my dry 90 degree day rather than the upper 50s with constant rain I could have done all I’d hoped for. As it was, I did my best. Am I embarrassed? A little, but only at my time. I couldn’t ask for anything more from my body, nor could I have trained any better (well, except maybe that weight training regimen... next year!).
Now I’ll skip to my impressions of the race. I hated it. The swim is a two loop course, and while you don’t have to actually get out and run on the beach after your first loop, I don’t like double loops. They’re too congested. The bike course had a lot of turns and a lot of bumpy roads, and my crotch would like to personally give the finger to whoever planned the course. The run is dull dull dull--out and back twice over an uninspiring, but largely contained, path. I mentioned the long lines, the lame expo, and the parking... we had to pay for parking every damn time we were in town, including race day. Honestly, for $450 I can’t get one freaking day of free parking? I have to send my friend hither and thither to get the car so I don’t collapse after the race? You stink, Ironman Wisconsin. You’re a not-as-good-as-you-should-be race. And Madison? It’s about as big as an almond. The hotels aren’t as close to the race site as I’d expected and there’s not a lot to look at there; I don’t know why this was such a shock to me but it was. I’d cut off a toe before I moved there, though there were some yummy restaurants, pretty town square, and cute college kids (if you could ignore that accent...*shudder*).
Yet despite my strong disappointment and my pledge to not do an ironman next year ("law school"), I had to resist registering for the 2007 race on Monday morning. I couldn’t help it--I wanted to do better on a challenging course. I wanted to be in that selective group again that got to compete in IM WI. It was my pride speaking, not my heart--and haven’t I listened to that enough?
I don’t want to sound bitter about the race, so let me go through the positives. The crowds on the bike course are great, as are the volunteers. While I could have done without the sausage my pride forced me to accept at the top of one hill--and I definitely didn’t need to be peer pressured into running up one hill instead of staying seated--the people added that spark that is essential at an ironman. The bike was challenging but pretty (if it hadn’t been raining and folks hadn’t been crashing or spitting mud from their tires straight to my face). The run was also nicely contained and allowed family and friends to watch at the turnaround/start/finish as well as the halfway turnaround at mile 6-7 and 20-21. It was also pretty flat, which I definitely needed. Finally, it was nice to be able to ask for directions from people and to not get honked at when I failed to pay attention to traffic lights turning green; Wisconsin isn't all bad. See? I’m not totally negative.
I’m off to swim--and I’m actually excited about it! Woo hoo!
I arrived in Milwaukee on Friday morning to dry weather and the mid 70s. I shivered getting off the plane. My roommate and I got our luggage, hopped in the rental, and drove the 75 or so minutes to Madison. Before we entered Monona Terrace in Madison so that I could register, we were definitely in the top 5% of the thinnest people in the state. Wisconsin seems quite, um, pale and heavyset. Once we walked into Monona Terrace, however, we became just about the fattest people in view. Of course, we’re kind of used to that at these races. We found a restroom, then hopped in a reeediculously long line for registration. While stuck in the line for about 1/2 hour (til we got a sheet of paper, then moved to another reeediculously long line), we were subjected to the conversations of those around us.
I’m not sure I’ve made this as clear as I could, but I utterly dislike Ironmen. And their conversations in line. So, roomie and I made fun of the jerks around us (and those wretched WI accents) for a good 90 minutes before I finally got my wristband and freedom. Next we went up to Inside Out Sports to buy some CO2 cartridges and look around (and stand in another unbefreakinglievably long line). After that we headed to the expo, which was the worst expo ever. PowerBar wasn’t even there, and Clif wasn’t handing out packets of their drinks, only teensy samples. I was annoyed; here I was, wasting a day of vacation, paying for parking, and did I get to score some recovery drink powder samples? Heck no. After I checked in for the Janus Charity Challenge (I raised over $5600! Thanks to everyone who donated! There’ll be a special party in heaven for you!), we headed down to pick up my bike from TriBike Transport--who, by the way, I’d recommend 100 times over. Very friendly, very easy, and I got a free Headsweats visor. Woohoo!
The rest of Friday was spent unpacking, eating dinner with friends, and organizing my crap for what looked like a chilly race day. The prediction: 62 with 30% chance of rain. 30% isn’t much, right? Right. So it was okay I didn’t look for arm warmers til Saturday when they were sold out all over the city because 30% rounds down to 0, and if it did rain even 30% of the day, it’d only be 7.2 hours. Right? Right.
Wrong... but that’s another story. Onto Saturday. I got up (alone... my roommate stayed out with his college buddies), ran and rode around the hotel, then headed back to Monona for a quick dip in the lake. The water was warm, and my swim out was smooth and quick; the current was obviously pushing me along. I decided to cross the swim course and head back so that I could feel the water from every angle I would the next day. When crossing the course I got pummeled. Crushed. The waves were rocking and punching, but when I turned to finally head back I was greeted with an easy swim again. I could handle the thin sections of the course being rough, I thought. After my swim I ran into George and Ben at the expo/transition (I was on a rack right next to the pros and with only 3 bikes! How awesome!), and we hung around and decided to drive the bike course together in the afternoon. We parted ways, I farted around the next few hours, then met up with the guys again to see what I’d be facing on two wheels on Sunday.
I mentioned last post I’d watched Simply Stu’s videos of the course. Due to the speed required to get the entire thing in 30 mintues, the bike one is not representative of the actual course--even though it is the actual course. I'd advise driving the course before deciding what you can actually do on race day. George and I got the Basically Ben tour from our favorite local, which gave us insights into when to eat, what corners to watch, what roads were crappy (think ~80 miles of them... grr), what hills were tough. I knew my goals were screwed by the time I dropped them off--the swim was looking to be choppy, the bike challenging, and the run boring. This wasn’t a PR race situation, but I tried to stay positive; after all, I wasn’t even at the starting line and I disliked the race site, avoided most other competitors, and feared the wretched weather. If I kept being Negative Nellie I wasn’t going to finish.
But I did finish--in 14:26:01. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. My original goal was 13:40 or so, and my during-the-race goal was to break 15 hours. I landed somewhere in the middle, and that’s okay. Maybe if I’d gotten my dry 90 degree day rather than the upper 50s with constant rain I could have done all I’d hoped for. As it was, I did my best. Am I embarrassed? A little, but only at my time. I couldn’t ask for anything more from my body, nor could I have trained any better (well, except maybe that weight training regimen... next year!).
Now I’ll skip to my impressions of the race. I hated it. The swim is a two loop course, and while you don’t have to actually get out and run on the beach after your first loop, I don’t like double loops. They’re too congested. The bike course had a lot of turns and a lot of bumpy roads, and my crotch would like to personally give the finger to whoever planned the course. The run is dull dull dull--out and back twice over an uninspiring, but largely contained, path. I mentioned the long lines, the lame expo, and the parking... we had to pay for parking every damn time we were in town, including race day. Honestly, for $450 I can’t get one freaking day of free parking? I have to send my friend hither and thither to get the car so I don’t collapse after the race? You stink, Ironman Wisconsin. You’re a not-as-good-as-you-should-be race. And Madison? It’s about as big as an almond. The hotels aren’t as close to the race site as I’d expected and there’s not a lot to look at there; I don’t know why this was such a shock to me but it was. I’d cut off a toe before I moved there, though there were some yummy restaurants, pretty town square, and cute college kids (if you could ignore that accent...*shudder*).
Yet despite my strong disappointment and my pledge to not do an ironman next year ("law school"), I had to resist registering for the 2007 race on Monday morning. I couldn’t help it--I wanted to do better on a challenging course. I wanted to be in that selective group again that got to compete in IM WI. It was my pride speaking, not my heart--and haven’t I listened to that enough?
I don’t want to sound bitter about the race, so let me go through the positives. The crowds on the bike course are great, as are the volunteers. While I could have done without the sausage my pride forced me to accept at the top of one hill--and I definitely didn’t need to be peer pressured into running up one hill instead of staying seated--the people added that spark that is essential at an ironman. The bike was challenging but pretty (if it hadn’t been raining and folks hadn’t been crashing or spitting mud from their tires straight to my face). The run was also nicely contained and allowed family and friends to watch at the turnaround/start/finish as well as the halfway turnaround at mile 6-7 and 20-21. It was also pretty flat, which I definitely needed. Finally, it was nice to be able to ask for directions from people and to not get honked at when I failed to pay attention to traffic lights turning green; Wisconsin isn't all bad. See? I’m not totally negative.
I’m off to swim--and I’m actually excited about it! Woo hoo!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Ironman Wisconsin: will she be my, um witch?
I have a number (I’m 45!! Don’t ask me why I’m 2000 lower and the only non-consecutive number of the W18-24s). It’s 5 days away. It’s time to reveal some goals.
As always with these races, my hopes and dreams are tiered. Here they are in increasing order of difficulty:
1) Finish (of course)
2) Finish in under 17 hours-- to be official
3) Finish in under 14 hours
-- Swim of 1:05:xx (previous swim was a 1:06:12, but I did a crappy job sighting)
-- T1 under 6:00 (previous T1 of 6:28, but I have new sock-less cycling shoes and am swimming in my cycling stuff)
-- Bike at 15.1 mph/under 7:30 (previous bike was 15.1 and 7:25:06. This course is hillier but I’m 13% more of a badass on my sweet new ride and serious biking legs)
-- T2 under 7:00 (previous was 9:04, but that’s because I was brain dead)
-- Run at 10:58 pace or 4:48 marathon (previous was 11:09 pace and 4:52:30
-- Total time: under 13:40:00
This is a reasonable though still challenging goal. And I’m down with reasonable.
4) Finish in under 13 hours (Superchick goal)
-- Swim of 1:04
-- T1 under 6:00 (no need to get carried away here… I still have a wetsuit to take off and a fair distance to jog)
--Bike first lap in 15.7 and second at 16.0 mph for a time of 7:04
-- T2 under 6:00
-- Run at 10:40 pace for 4:40 marathon
-- Total time: under 12:59:59
Sub goal: if I break 13:00, I’m going to try hard not to soil myself in disbelief at the finish
5) Finish in top 8 (top 20%) of my age group. I don’t have much control over this one since I probably can’t convince any of the girls to slow down. Still, a good (and lofty) goal.
I’m really afraid of this race, and I keep thinking my goals are too challenging; I think I might be afraid to set the bar high enough so that it’s really a challenge. And I’ve only done this twice before with VERY varying results--how can I be sure I can do this? And what if I DO break 13? The implications are too much to consider, though fortunately it will be very difficult to do.
Anyway. I also have some quality goals--not independent of the times above, but certainly distinctive enough to merit their own section:
1) Holy crap you bonehead, get your bike nutrition executed. I’ve never done this one (and I’m just a little bitter about it), so now’s a good time to start. This could be the reason I’m so slow in the saddle, eh? I pledge to drink a bottle of fluid an hour, take a salt tablet every half hour, and try to eat every 30-45 minutes, depending on how the tummy’s faring.
2) Negative split my ride. If I take it easy on the first lap like I’m supposed to, this is a very real possibility. Scary!
3) Don’t walk any hills on the bike. While at first I thought this would be difficult, after seeing the course video on Simply Stu’s site I’m feeling a lot better about being able to keep my butt glued to my saddle the entire time.
4) Don’t go out too hard the first 10 miles of the run. Easier said than done, especially when “hard” is still relatively slow.
5) Don’t finish so fast that I catch someone at the end of the race, making my picture at the finish line suck due to the overzealous turd in front of me. Is it wrong to call someone a turd for being “too excited” for finishing an Ironman? Well I’m doing it anyway.
And here are some non-athletic goals that I’m also aspiring to achieve, in no particular order:
1) Do not lose my bike in transition
2) Don’t look like I’m drunk or high in my finisher’s pic
3) Find the cameramen on the course and smile! Never mind I feel absurd doing so--it’s important for my legacy (ha).
4) Do not cry at the finish line
5) Enjoy the visit with some awesome college pals: hero George, pledge daughter Adrienne, and genius Ben (who’s doing his first IM)
6) Snag an unbelievable amount of samples of powerbar’s electrolyte drink and clif’s recovery drink. Okay, also attempt to score the powerbar recovery stuff and the clif electrolyte stuff... beggars can’t be choosers.
7) Be nice to C
8) Look for a $370 bill on the ground so I can make my fundraising goal
Okay, I think that’s enough. If you want to watch me finish on Sunday or want to follow my progress just type in 45 for bib number or my last name here under “The Latest” in the upper right corner. If Arizona was any indication I’ll start to cry every time I think of you folks watching—which happened to be at every single timing pad on the course. I’m a sucker for support, especially when I’m exhausted and hormonally unbalanced.
See ya later!
As always with these races, my hopes and dreams are tiered. Here they are in increasing order of difficulty:
1) Finish (of course)
2) Finish in under 17 hours-- to be official
3) Finish in under 14 hours
-- Swim of 1:05:xx (previous swim was a 1:06:12, but I did a crappy job sighting)
-- T1 under 6:00 (previous T1 of 6:28, but I have new sock-less cycling shoes and am swimming in my cycling stuff)
-- Bike at 15.1 mph/under 7:30 (previous bike was 15.1 and 7:25:06. This course is hillier but I’m 13% more of a badass on my sweet new ride and serious biking legs)
-- T2 under 7:00 (previous was 9:04, but that’s because I was brain dead)
-- Run at 10:58 pace or 4:48 marathon (previous was 11:09 pace and 4:52:30
-- Total time: under 13:40:00
This is a reasonable though still challenging goal. And I’m down with reasonable.
4) Finish in under 13 hours (Superchick goal)
-- Swim of 1:04
-- T1 under 6:00 (no need to get carried away here… I still have a wetsuit to take off and a fair distance to jog)
--Bike first lap in 15.7 and second at 16.0 mph for a time of 7:04
-- T2 under 6:00
-- Run at 10:40 pace for 4:40 marathon
-- Total time: under 12:59:59
Sub goal: if I break 13:00, I’m going to try hard not to soil myself in disbelief at the finish
5) Finish in top 8 (top 20%) of my age group. I don’t have much control over this one since I probably can’t convince any of the girls to slow down. Still, a good (and lofty) goal.
I’m really afraid of this race, and I keep thinking my goals are too challenging; I think I might be afraid to set the bar high enough so that it’s really a challenge. And I’ve only done this twice before with VERY varying results--how can I be sure I can do this? And what if I DO break 13? The implications are too much to consider, though fortunately it will be very difficult to do.
Anyway. I also have some quality goals--not independent of the times above, but certainly distinctive enough to merit their own section:
1) Holy crap you bonehead, get your bike nutrition executed. I’ve never done this one (and I’m just a little bitter about it), so now’s a good time to start. This could be the reason I’m so slow in the saddle, eh? I pledge to drink a bottle of fluid an hour, take a salt tablet every half hour, and try to eat every 30-45 minutes, depending on how the tummy’s faring.
2) Negative split my ride. If I take it easy on the first lap like I’m supposed to, this is a very real possibility. Scary!
3) Don’t walk any hills on the bike. While at first I thought this would be difficult, after seeing the course video on Simply Stu’s site I’m feeling a lot better about being able to keep my butt glued to my saddle the entire time.
4) Don’t go out too hard the first 10 miles of the run. Easier said than done, especially when “hard” is still relatively slow.
5) Don’t finish so fast that I catch someone at the end of the race, making my picture at the finish line suck due to the overzealous turd in front of me. Is it wrong to call someone a turd for being “too excited” for finishing an Ironman? Well I’m doing it anyway.
And here are some non-athletic goals that I’m also aspiring to achieve, in no particular order:
1) Do not lose my bike in transition
2) Don’t look like I’m drunk or high in my finisher’s pic
3) Find the cameramen on the course and smile! Never mind I feel absurd doing so--it’s important for my legacy (ha).
4) Do not cry at the finish line
5) Enjoy the visit with some awesome college pals: hero George, pledge daughter Adrienne, and genius Ben (who’s doing his first IM)
6) Snag an unbelievable amount of samples of powerbar’s electrolyte drink and clif’s recovery drink. Okay, also attempt to score the powerbar recovery stuff and the clif electrolyte stuff... beggars can’t be choosers.
7) Be nice to C
8) Look for a $370 bill on the ground so I can make my fundraising goal
Okay, I think that’s enough. If you want to watch me finish on Sunday or want to follow my progress just type in 45 for bib number or my last name here under “The Latest” in the upper right corner. If Arizona was any indication I’ll start to cry every time I think of you folks watching—which happened to be at every single timing pad on the course. I’m a sucker for support, especially when I’m exhausted and hormonally unbalanced.
See ya later!
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Stick a fork in me: my crappy afternoon that wasn’t all that crappy. I guess.
Yesterday I was supposed to have dinner at a friend’s house at 7:30. I was stoked about what was sure to be a fancypants, delicious dinner, but I was a little concerned about getting in the hour ride and 1500 yd swim for the day, especially since I didn’t roll out of bed til after 7 AM. I decided to solve the problem by working through lunch, leaving work at 4:30, riding at the park til I was kicked off by the crits, hit the pool, get home, and jet to dinner. It was a good plan except it’s stupid; in order to make the magic happen, I’d have to take my bike in the cab of my truck to avoid theft and tacking on 40 minutes of travel time. In case that’s not obvious, this is a bad idea. I promised myself I’d admit defeat if it took me more than 7 minutes to shove my bike into the passenger seat, but alas! It only took 5 minutes. I pulled out of my apartment complex a few minutes later with my cheek resting on my front fork... classy.
A few minutes after that, the fork jabbed my chin and left a trail of grease no one cared to mention to me for several hours... classy.
Anyway, I achieved moderate success getting my work done, and left the office on time. I got to the park, put my front wheel back on Lucy, and started to change in the middle of the street (also classy, I know). I thought it would be easy since I was wearing a dress, but I overestimated my ability to shimmy out of my clothes; I think I flashed two unsuspecting cars as they passed. Tough nuggets! After finally getting the dress off, I realize that I have no sports bra to put on. “Oh well,” I think. “Cycling isn’t that jiggle-inducing,” and I tossed on my t-shirt and headed over to the loop to get my cycle on.
My information source said that the crits started at 6:30, giving me plenty of time to jet before folks started warming up for the races. My source was wrong. The sign posted on the loop said the first races started at 5:50, giving me exactly an hour to work out. Everything’s cool still, right? Right. Never mind I’m the only tri bike in sight and wearing a t-shirt and $15 sunglasses. It’s about the workout, not impressing some snooty cyclists. So I rode for my 10 minute warm-up, then am motioned to switch directions on the one way path by 4 or 5 guys going the other way (the crits race clockwise, which is opposite what the path signs indicate). Oops! I turned around. I mostly got passed by folks who don’t have to brake at every turn like I do, but it was okay. Occasionally I had to sit behind some slow cyclists who were taking up the whole lane, but eventually got around them. Then suddenly, the slow people picked up the pace and flew by me. Wow! I tried to catch up for the next 20 minutes and failed, but while doing so I’m going 20+ and EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT on the course. This is immaterial and not even that fast for most, but it’s a helluva lot faster than the 15 mph average I was showing 5 weeks ago. I’m an animal! I’m amazing! Wait! I’m blocked in?
It was 5:50 and the riders had lined up across the entire path, and they were 2-3 deep. What? I’d assumed that someone would indicate we needed to clear the course before a freaking peloton zoomed past, but I was wrong. I slowed and made eye contact with a cyclist. “Excuse me, but do you know how to get out...” the freaking turdface ignored me because he’s a cyclist and cyclists are just about the meanest people in the sports world. This wasn’t that surprising, but while I was trying to get his attention, I’d slowed to almost a complete stop while clipped in. Before I could even finish my question, I toppled over while frantically trying to unclip. All 30 riders and their spectators turn to look at me in a heap under my bike. Someone laughed. I was mortified--more than I have been in years--but mostly fine. My bike computer wasn’t computing, my handlebar tape had a fresh gash, and my hand hurt from landing on it, but my pride was completely destroyed. Finally a spectator said I could probably get out around the edge of the riders (“they’re pretty nice guys” she said. Um, YEAH RIGHT), and I did. As I tip-toed through the edge of the crowd, someone said, “Keep up the hard work--you’ll get it” and “Good effort.” What is this, lollipop soccer? I’m a grown woman and was going a respectable pace the entire time. I just happened to forget to unclip, and it’s because I’m still getting used to my pedals (funny note: 30 minutes before this episode I was patting myself on the back for adjusting to the new pedals so quickly. Ha!). I mean, if you can’t ride the 1.2 mile picnic loop without getting pity comments (and laughter), where can you ride?
I immediately called my roommate and actually started crying. Sigh. My episode subsided rather quickly though, and I headed to the Y. There was a guy at the parking lot asking for passes, and I searched my keychain. Where the heck was my Y pass? After about a minute of looking he finally just told me to go on, and of course I found it after that (it’d been removed from my keyring when my car got serviced the other day). But somehow, 20 seconds later, I couldn’t find my keys. They all disappeared save my car key that was still in the ignition. Finally I gave up searching and went to swim.
Nothing happened in the pool except I peed. I love peeing in the pool. But when I got out of my shower after my workout, trouble popped up again: I had no bra to wear. I had no swimsuits to wear (strange b/c usually there’s 4 in my bag, not just one). I was leaving the Young Men’s Christian Association brazenly missing a bra--show #2 for the afternoon. Sigh... I’m a pinnacle of classiness.
I got home and started to tell this very story when I got interrupted at the no sports bra part. Roomie rudely insisted I was being silly for getting embarrassed about falling in front of complete strangers. What a completely wrong thing to say! We left for our friends where nothing bad happened (and where my hostess insisted that the fall was pretty effing embarrassing and it was okay to be upset. Ahem... thank you). And the badness ended.
Today I’m over it, but I still wanted to share. :-)
4 other things: 1) This was the last of the crits for the year. Praises! 2) I now have to swim with my fingers on my left hand rubber banded together. It sucks, but it works. Remind me to get my bike refitted when I get back from Wisconsin. 3) I found my keys under a pile of bike/swim stuff in my backseat-ish area--like I buried them. Sigh. 4) The weather right now is gorgeous! I never thought I’d say that during a week when it still “Feels Like” 90+, but, well, I did.
A few minutes after that, the fork jabbed my chin and left a trail of grease no one cared to mention to me for several hours... classy.
Anyway, I achieved moderate success getting my work done, and left the office on time. I got to the park, put my front wheel back on Lucy, and started to change in the middle of the street (also classy, I know). I thought it would be easy since I was wearing a dress, but I overestimated my ability to shimmy out of my clothes; I think I flashed two unsuspecting cars as they passed. Tough nuggets! After finally getting the dress off, I realize that I have no sports bra to put on. “Oh well,” I think. “Cycling isn’t that jiggle-inducing,” and I tossed on my t-shirt and headed over to the loop to get my cycle on.
My information source said that the crits started at 6:30, giving me plenty of time to jet before folks started warming up for the races. My source was wrong. The sign posted on the loop said the first races started at 5:50, giving me exactly an hour to work out. Everything’s cool still, right? Right. Never mind I’m the only tri bike in sight and wearing a t-shirt and $15 sunglasses. It’s about the workout, not impressing some snooty cyclists. So I rode for my 10 minute warm-up, then am motioned to switch directions on the one way path by 4 or 5 guys going the other way (the crits race clockwise, which is opposite what the path signs indicate). Oops! I turned around. I mostly got passed by folks who don’t have to brake at every turn like I do, but it was okay. Occasionally I had to sit behind some slow cyclists who were taking up the whole lane, but eventually got around them. Then suddenly, the slow people picked up the pace and flew by me. Wow! I tried to catch up for the next 20 minutes and failed, but while doing so I’m going 20+ and EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT on the course. This is immaterial and not even that fast for most, but it’s a helluva lot faster than the 15 mph average I was showing 5 weeks ago. I’m an animal! I’m amazing! Wait! I’m blocked in?
It was 5:50 and the riders had lined up across the entire path, and they were 2-3 deep. What? I’d assumed that someone would indicate we needed to clear the course before a freaking peloton zoomed past, but I was wrong. I slowed and made eye contact with a cyclist. “Excuse me, but do you know how to get out...” the freaking turdface ignored me because he’s a cyclist and cyclists are just about the meanest people in the sports world. This wasn’t that surprising, but while I was trying to get his attention, I’d slowed to almost a complete stop while clipped in. Before I could even finish my question, I toppled over while frantically trying to unclip. All 30 riders and their spectators turn to look at me in a heap under my bike. Someone laughed. I was mortified--more than I have been in years--but mostly fine. My bike computer wasn’t computing, my handlebar tape had a fresh gash, and my hand hurt from landing on it, but my pride was completely destroyed. Finally a spectator said I could probably get out around the edge of the riders (“they’re pretty nice guys” she said. Um, YEAH RIGHT), and I did. As I tip-toed through the edge of the crowd, someone said, “Keep up the hard work--you’ll get it” and “Good effort.” What is this, lollipop soccer? I’m a grown woman and was going a respectable pace the entire time. I just happened to forget to unclip, and it’s because I’m still getting used to my pedals (funny note: 30 minutes before this episode I was patting myself on the back for adjusting to the new pedals so quickly. Ha!). I mean, if you can’t ride the 1.2 mile picnic loop without getting pity comments (and laughter), where can you ride?
I immediately called my roommate and actually started crying. Sigh. My episode subsided rather quickly though, and I headed to the Y. There was a guy at the parking lot asking for passes, and I searched my keychain. Where the heck was my Y pass? After about a minute of looking he finally just told me to go on, and of course I found it after that (it’d been removed from my keyring when my car got serviced the other day). But somehow, 20 seconds later, I couldn’t find my keys. They all disappeared save my car key that was still in the ignition. Finally I gave up searching and went to swim.
Nothing happened in the pool except I peed. I love peeing in the pool. But when I got out of my shower after my workout, trouble popped up again: I had no bra to wear. I had no swimsuits to wear (strange b/c usually there’s 4 in my bag, not just one). I was leaving the Young Men’s Christian Association brazenly missing a bra--show #2 for the afternoon. Sigh... I’m a pinnacle of classiness.
I got home and started to tell this very story when I got interrupted at the no sports bra part. Roomie rudely insisted I was being silly for getting embarrassed about falling in front of complete strangers. What a completely wrong thing to say! We left for our friends where nothing bad happened (and where my hostess insisted that the fall was pretty effing embarrassing and it was okay to be upset. Ahem... thank you). And the badness ended.
Today I’m over it, but I still wanted to share. :-)
4 other things: 1) This was the last of the crits for the year. Praises! 2) I now have to swim with my fingers on my left hand rubber banded together. It sucks, but it works. Remind me to get my bike refitted when I get back from Wisconsin. 3) I found my keys under a pile of bike/swim stuff in my backseat-ish area--like I buried them. Sigh. 4) The weather right now is gorgeous! I never thought I’d say that during a week when it still “Feels Like” 90+, but, well, I did.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Crazy dreams linger on...
Patsy Cline reference (the title). Anyway--
Last night I had some crazy dreams. The first one I remember was talking to my tri friend Kay about her new job with a chemical company. Since the place wasn’t far from my job (we were in NYC too... I don't know why. I don't even like the place), I strolled over there about 9:00 AM on her first day at the new place, when lots of execs happened to be showing up. Well, they liked me and instantly hired me (for a LOT more than I’m making now...sad. But I love dreams). I accepted, but felt very strange since it was a Wednesday. Should I finish the week at my old job? Did I really want to leave my company? After all, I liked it a lot. I sorted through these problems by not actually working at my new job and just talking to Kay. It was super fun. Later, however, one exec told me to go get a new wardrobe because I wasn’t very fashionable (couldn’t I have let myself be fashionable in my own dream?? Sigh). She ended up taking me to this boutique, where I spent like effing $1300 on a dress, a purse I hated, and a pair of leather pants. Yes, leather pants. I was super pissed and was about the resolve the problem--somehow--when Lily woke me. Silly kitty!
The next dream was much cooler, though my girl Kay wasn’t hanging out with me. I was at IM Wisconsin whooping some ass. Oh yeah. I posted a 1:08 swim time, two transitions under 5:30, and a bike leg that averaged 15.9 mph (which is quite speedy for me). In the dream I was finishing up the run, and it was dark. Toward the finish line I kind of left my body--which, much like reality on the marathon of an IM, felt like shit--to watch myself finish in 12:51. 12:51! That’s a 10:18 run pace, probably way faster than what I’ll actually run, at least in WI. I train around 9:50 for my long runs, but I don’t think I’ll come close to that in the race. Of course, maybe I could if I actually followed my nutrition plan, especially on the bike. Though it was a dream, that finish was an incredible feeling. One day I’ll do it--in real life? After all, it’s high time I make some race goals that aren’t 100% feasible; achieving them every time (okay, both times) is getting old.
Last night I had some crazy dreams. The first one I remember was talking to my tri friend Kay about her new job with a chemical company. Since the place wasn’t far from my job (we were in NYC too... I don't know why. I don't even like the place), I strolled over there about 9:00 AM on her first day at the new place, when lots of execs happened to be showing up. Well, they liked me and instantly hired me (for a LOT more than I’m making now...sad. But I love dreams). I accepted, but felt very strange since it was a Wednesday. Should I finish the week at my old job? Did I really want to leave my company? After all, I liked it a lot. I sorted through these problems by not actually working at my new job and just talking to Kay. It was super fun. Later, however, one exec told me to go get a new wardrobe because I wasn’t very fashionable (couldn’t I have let myself be fashionable in my own dream?? Sigh). She ended up taking me to this boutique, where I spent like effing $1300 on a dress, a purse I hated, and a pair of leather pants. Yes, leather pants. I was super pissed and was about the resolve the problem--somehow--when Lily woke me. Silly kitty!
The next dream was much cooler, though my girl Kay wasn’t hanging out with me. I was at IM Wisconsin whooping some ass. Oh yeah. I posted a 1:08 swim time, two transitions under 5:30, and a bike leg that averaged 15.9 mph (which is quite speedy for me). In the dream I was finishing up the run, and it was dark. Toward the finish line I kind of left my body--which, much like reality on the marathon of an IM, felt like shit--to watch myself finish in 12:51. 12:51! That’s a 10:18 run pace, probably way faster than what I’ll actually run, at least in WI. I train around 9:50 for my long runs, but I don’t think I’ll come close to that in the race. Of course, maybe I could if I actually followed my nutrition plan, especially on the bike. Though it was a dream, that finish was an incredible feeling. One day I’ll do it--in real life? After all, it’s high time I make some race goals that aren’t 100% feasible; achieving them every time (okay, both times) is getting old.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Crotch rocket
I got a new bike. It’s funny—every time I think “crotch rocket” I start singing “Hot Blooded” by Foreigner in my head. I don’t know what’s sadder, that I know the words (from the double disc Foreigner album I have at home… I’m a loser) or that I make such an absurd association. Anyway, I could jump right into talking about my ride, but that’s not my style; here’s the long road to on-topic prose:
Last week I had something of a well-being meltdown. Tuesday during hills I noticed that I felt really bad instead of the normal bad, but I chalked it up to the hot weather (as compared to the week before, not weather in general. It’s always hot here, remember?). On Wednesday I was scheduled to do my last superlong run, but my stomach had other ideas. After 12 miles I couldn’t go anymore. I didn’t even shower—just headed home, (showered,) choked down some rice, and hit the sack at 8:30. Sleep cures all.
Oh wait! No it doesn’t. Thursday I felt worse, and after a quick run in the morning that also ended in disappointment, I decided to take the afternoon off. Well, that’s not true; originally I was just going to go to spin class instead of tacking on the additional hour after class, but it took me 30 minutes to get out of the ^*%!ing parking garage at work; spinning classes were not in my future when I’d be that late. Instead, I went straight to the bike shop to purchase the ugly bike.
When I got there, the guy who’d helped me test ride bikes was gone, but the fitting specialist was there. I asked if he’d ever buy a bike he thought was ugly and he reacted quite strongly (no). This wasn’t helping me overcome my hesitation to drop a chunk on my new pony, but I made the plunge anyway. I’m better than that, right? Besides, I’d called every Felt dealer between here, Austin, and Dallas; there was not an S22 in my near future. If I wanted a new bike it had to be this one.
I meant to get a ride in with my new baby—dubbed Lucetta/Lucy—on Friday, but things didn’t work out between work and the desire to actually hang out with my roommate more than saying hi before eating the dinner and trucking to bed. Instead, we ate some mexican and went to bed early. Saturday would be the inaugural ride: 120 miles of (hopefully) bliss.
I had emailed George on Friday about the extreme shittiness I was feeling and he suggested a cut my ride to a more “reasonable distance.” I took this to mean 115 miles instead of 120. About 3 miles into the ride though, I was thinking I’d be lucky to squeeze out 20 given the unpleasant feeling in my crotch. Apparently this new seat was going to cut the mustard in all the wrong ways. By the time I got to the 23 mile mark where the group had stopped to refuel/let me catch up, I wanted a ride home in a car. I said I was cutting my ride to 40 miles til someone said they wanted to buy raffle tickets for my fundraiser; I then decided I could eek out 60 with the group to raise another $20. It’s for charity folks! Besides, I didn’t know where the turnoff was to take the 40 mile loop. A few minutes later we pressed on.
The ride got better. After mile 23 I didn’t get dropped again, and I sorta went numb about 30 miles in. Once I wasn’t distracted by the fire down below I really liked my Lucy, and could focus on exerting some effort on the road instead of finding creative ways of sitting to relieve my pain. I got to socialize a bit, work in a solid 60 miles, and become accustomed to my new baby, particularly the different shifting setup. By the end of the ride I was glad I didn’t wait around for my dream bike—I loved Lucy (awww). After all, she was plenty nice enough for me and an unbelievable improvement over Big Hoss. Besides, I don’t need to be one of those tri dbags that has an extraordinarily nice bike but is slow as crap… then I couldn’t make fun of them constantly (while also being insanely jealous of their disposable income). Besides, I’m a kid; when I’m over the hill (29) and need the extra incentive to train, I’ll roll up in a top of the line bike—and I’ll make sure it’s carbon too, because when I sell out I’m gonna go all the way. But my nasty side is making me digress… And I’m joking about the 29 by the way.
People always anticipate being faster on a new bike, even when they say they don’t have such silly expectations. The truth is, new bikes do make you faster. Initially when riding the new wheels one thinks, “Oh bummer, I’m not any faster than I was on my old beater bike.” Then comes the realization: throwing money at it won’t fix the problem. Personally having this experience will allow one—well, allowed me—to fully accept that reality and work even harder on the new bike than the one before. For me, I’m no longer ashamed of my bottom-of-the-line road bike with broken aerobars (though you can’t SEE they’re broken I still know), $30 mountain biking shoes, and non-fancy wheels because I no longer have those things save the non-fancy wheels. I’m on a tri bike that, while tacky as shit, is decent in the sea of expensive bikes it hangs out with on a regular basis. It’s easier to ride than my old bike, and (with my new seat that I replaced Saturday immediately after the ride) more comfortable. Riding is fun, and I’ve never genuinely said that before. I expect the next year to bring great breakthroughs in my biking abilities. Who knows, maybe I can drop another 2.6 hours from my time in Arizona 2007! Dare to dream.
Oh, I should mention that I actually am faster on my new bike than my old one. It could be the 5 lbs I lost (via the bike, not via the fat), the 650 wheels (which are actually faster, and the smaller tube size allows me to take 2 spares with me. Yippee!), or the joy of riding an actual tri bike. I also coughed up money for some Ultegra spd-sl’s instead of the spd’s I had on my old bike. I’m all grown up!
I forgot about the other bad thing that happened Saturday/Sunday (I rode again to test out my new women’s specific saddle. Allow me to get off topic and say the WSD bike design I’m not totally buying into, but I’ll be damned if my lady parts ever sit on a “unisex” saddle again). I bought a new pair of cycling gloves because my 4 year old pair is starting to wear through the palms. Unfortunately, the seat fiasco Saturday had me up on the handlebars more than I intended, and my palms were pretty numb. Bummer, huh? On Sunday, however, the problem escalated. My palms were again numb, but this time I couldn’t get full control of my pinkie finger on my left hand. I freaked because hey, that's what I named my blog. But, I figured it’d be better by Monday. Indeed, there was vast improvement there, though I couldn’t exactly swim since my fingers refused to stay together on my left hand. I assumed I’d continue to get better, but I haven’t. I’m starting to worry I’ve done permanent damage to my hand, which would obviously suck a lot. I’m heading out to swim right now and think I might have to put a rubber band around my fingers to keep them together. Does anyone know if that’s legal in a sanctioned race? I hope so or I’m S-C-R-E-W-D screwed. Hey, at least I’ll have a decent bike split, right?
Last week I had something of a well-being meltdown. Tuesday during hills I noticed that I felt really bad instead of the normal bad, but I chalked it up to the hot weather (as compared to the week before, not weather in general. It’s always hot here, remember?). On Wednesday I was scheduled to do my last superlong run, but my stomach had other ideas. After 12 miles I couldn’t go anymore. I didn’t even shower—just headed home, (showered,) choked down some rice, and hit the sack at 8:30. Sleep cures all.
Oh wait! No it doesn’t. Thursday I felt worse, and after a quick run in the morning that also ended in disappointment, I decided to take the afternoon off. Well, that’s not true; originally I was just going to go to spin class instead of tacking on the additional hour after class, but it took me 30 minutes to get out of the ^*%!ing parking garage at work; spinning classes were not in my future when I’d be that late. Instead, I went straight to the bike shop to purchase the ugly bike.
When I got there, the guy who’d helped me test ride bikes was gone, but the fitting specialist was there. I asked if he’d ever buy a bike he thought was ugly and he reacted quite strongly (no). This wasn’t helping me overcome my hesitation to drop a chunk on my new pony, but I made the plunge anyway. I’m better than that, right? Besides, I’d called every Felt dealer between here, Austin, and Dallas; there was not an S22 in my near future. If I wanted a new bike it had to be this one.
I meant to get a ride in with my new baby—dubbed Lucetta/Lucy—on Friday, but things didn’t work out between work and the desire to actually hang out with my roommate more than saying hi before eating the dinner and trucking to bed. Instead, we ate some mexican and went to bed early. Saturday would be the inaugural ride: 120 miles of (hopefully) bliss.
I had emailed George on Friday about the extreme shittiness I was feeling and he suggested a cut my ride to a more “reasonable distance.” I took this to mean 115 miles instead of 120. About 3 miles into the ride though, I was thinking I’d be lucky to squeeze out 20 given the unpleasant feeling in my crotch. Apparently this new seat was going to cut the mustard in all the wrong ways. By the time I got to the 23 mile mark where the group had stopped to refuel/let me catch up, I wanted a ride home in a car. I said I was cutting my ride to 40 miles til someone said they wanted to buy raffle tickets for my fundraiser; I then decided I could eek out 60 with the group to raise another $20. It’s for charity folks! Besides, I didn’t know where the turnoff was to take the 40 mile loop. A few minutes later we pressed on.
The ride got better. After mile 23 I didn’t get dropped again, and I sorta went numb about 30 miles in. Once I wasn’t distracted by the fire down below I really liked my Lucy, and could focus on exerting some effort on the road instead of finding creative ways of sitting to relieve my pain. I got to socialize a bit, work in a solid 60 miles, and become accustomed to my new baby, particularly the different shifting setup. By the end of the ride I was glad I didn’t wait around for my dream bike—I loved Lucy (awww). After all, she was plenty nice enough for me and an unbelievable improvement over Big Hoss. Besides, I don’t need to be one of those tri dbags that has an extraordinarily nice bike but is slow as crap… then I couldn’t make fun of them constantly (while also being insanely jealous of their disposable income). Besides, I’m a kid; when I’m over the hill (29) and need the extra incentive to train, I’ll roll up in a top of the line bike—and I’ll make sure it’s carbon too, because when I sell out I’m gonna go all the way. But my nasty side is making me digress… And I’m joking about the 29 by the way.
People always anticipate being faster on a new bike, even when they say they don’t have such silly expectations. The truth is, new bikes do make you faster. Initially when riding the new wheels one thinks, “Oh bummer, I’m not any faster than I was on my old beater bike.” Then comes the realization: throwing money at it won’t fix the problem. Personally having this experience will allow one—well, allowed me—to fully accept that reality and work even harder on the new bike than the one before. For me, I’m no longer ashamed of my bottom-of-the-line road bike with broken aerobars (though you can’t SEE they’re broken I still know), $30 mountain biking shoes, and non-fancy wheels because I no longer have those things save the non-fancy wheels. I’m on a tri bike that, while tacky as shit, is decent in the sea of expensive bikes it hangs out with on a regular basis. It’s easier to ride than my old bike, and (with my new seat that I replaced Saturday immediately after the ride) more comfortable. Riding is fun, and I’ve never genuinely said that before. I expect the next year to bring great breakthroughs in my biking abilities. Who knows, maybe I can drop another 2.6 hours from my time in Arizona 2007! Dare to dream.
Oh, I should mention that I actually am faster on my new bike than my old one. It could be the 5 lbs I lost (via the bike, not via the fat), the 650 wheels (which are actually faster, and the smaller tube size allows me to take 2 spares with me. Yippee!), or the joy of riding an actual tri bike. I also coughed up money for some Ultegra spd-sl’s instead of the spd’s I had on my old bike. I’m all grown up!
I forgot about the other bad thing that happened Saturday/Sunday (I rode again to test out my new women’s specific saddle. Allow me to get off topic and say the WSD bike design I’m not totally buying into, but I’ll be damned if my lady parts ever sit on a “unisex” saddle again). I bought a new pair of cycling gloves because my 4 year old pair is starting to wear through the palms. Unfortunately, the seat fiasco Saturday had me up on the handlebars more than I intended, and my palms were pretty numb. Bummer, huh? On Sunday, however, the problem escalated. My palms were again numb, but this time I couldn’t get full control of my pinkie finger on my left hand. I freaked because hey, that's what I named my blog. But, I figured it’d be better by Monday. Indeed, there was vast improvement there, though I couldn’t exactly swim since my fingers refused to stay together on my left hand. I assumed I’d continue to get better, but I haven’t. I’m starting to worry I’ve done permanent damage to my hand, which would obviously suck a lot. I’m heading out to swim right now and think I might have to put a rubber band around my fingers to keep them together. Does anyone know if that’s legal in a sanctioned race? I hope so or I’m S-C-R-E-W-D screwed. Hey, at least I’ll have a decent bike split, right?
Friday, August 18, 2006
Shot through the heart
Yesterday when digging through the pile that is "months of crap to file" looking for my Rudy Project discount, I came across the July issue of Outside. Floyd Landis glared at me from the cover, and it nearly broke my heart. Just when I thought there was hope for love, admiration...
I'll never have another sports hero again. :-(
(another interesting thought: Outside weighs heavily on my opinions about all things sports. I want to go to Iceland for the summer solstice because Outside told me it was incredible [was supposed to go with my mom one day and chase puffin babies, soak in hot springs, and ride bikes :-(]. I don't like Dean Karnazes despite his being a badass because of an article run in Outside about some female ultra chick who psuedo-fueds with the guy. I think mountain biking is cool in part because of Outside... and in part because it is cool, but still. What do you think about using Ironman® branded products, Outside? I need to know my opinion.)
I'll never have another sports hero again. :-(
(another interesting thought: Outside weighs heavily on my opinions about all things sports. I want to go to Iceland for the summer solstice because Outside told me it was incredible [was supposed to go with my mom one day and chase puffin babies, soak in hot springs, and ride bikes :-(]. I don't like Dean Karnazes despite his being a badass because of an article run in Outside about some female ultra chick who psuedo-fueds with the guy. I think mountain biking is cool in part because of Outside... and in part because it is cool, but still. What do you think about using Ironman® branded products, Outside? I need to know my opinion.)
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Buyer's crisis
I’m buying a bike this week. Well, in theory I am.
I went shopping all weekend after weeks of comparing prices, specs, and materials online. What I found was that August is a bad time to buy a bike if you ride a 52. Why? Because the new model year comes out in September and the bike you’ve been lusting after for the past two years won’t be available in any bike shop in the entire city. Or something.
But despite that, I found a bike I love. I rode more expensive bikes and made bitter beer faces while doing so. This lovable bike, while from a brand I don’t like and a line I downright despise, felt like it was made for me. And it was $1000 less than my budget! Sounds like a dream, right?
NO. It just so happens that the 2005 Cannondale Ironman 800 (only in blue) is the ugliest bike I’ve laid eyes on. It’s way nastier than the bike about which I’ve been dreaming for all these long months: the Felt S22. Never mind I can’t find an S22 to test ride to save my life, and that it’s very likely I won’t like it. What do I know about what I like? Before last weekend would have guessed that the Cervélo I rode would have made my heart melt instead of my stomach rumble in displeasure (though it could have been because I was hungry. OR because I hated the bike… one of the two). Expensive doesn’t mean totally awesome when it comes to comfort, but I can’t let go of this dream bike, even when I have something I’ll love within my grasp.
But why am I being so silly about the way my bike looks? Hero George has the IM 800 and I don’t remember thinking his bike was ugly. Of course, George is so fast he could have just been a blue streak whizzing past me. And didn’t I learn in college that hot guys were way more likely to be dumb or not funny than the average or dorky looking ones? I am SOO over being shallow, and shouldn’t it be easier with an inanimate object than a person? Well yes, in theory.
Lists help me sort shit out.
Here are my problems with the bike:
* It’s unattractive and I identify with my transportation aides: my truck, my current Felt, my Mizunos
* It has 650c wheels, and while I’m all about accelerating/decelerating faster, they’re not standard
* It’s the same year as the bike I’m riding now since I bought Big Hoss at the beginning of the 2005 model year
* It’s a Cannondale
* It only has one place for a water bottle cage and I don’t like the ass grabbing seat stem water bottle holders
* It’s ugly
* It’s an Ironman® product, which isn’t my style (I think it’s borderline pretentious, especially because I’m slow)
* It’s $1000 less than I wanted to spend (and $950 less than the S22) so its components aren’t as nice… not that I could tell, but still
* It’s ugly as shit
Here’s what I like:
* It’s the most comfortable bike I've test rode by a loooooong shot
* It has Carbon Stryke aerobars, which I wanted to put on my bike anyway
* It’s a tri bike! I’m so grown up!
* It feels like half the weight of my last bike when really it’s only 4-6 lbs lighter
* It’s inexpensive enough that I can justify the $200 new tri cycling shoes I just bought
* It’s aluminum
* If I ever buy racing wheels in the future, they’ll be cheaper for 650s than 700s
Here’s what I like about the imaginary S22:
* It’s a brand I love
* It’s gorgeous
* It has nicer components
* It has 700c wheels on the 52 frame
* It has 11-23 freewheel versus 12-23, so the jumps in gears are slightly more noticeable
* It's also a tri bike
* It’s also aluminum
* I’ve been yearning for it since I first laid eyes on it last year
And what I don’t like:
* It’s punch-in-the-gut expensive for me
* I don’t know what size frame I need since my current 54 is too big but the 50 seems small
* It doesn’t have Profile Design handlebars, and I really like them because you can adjust them so much
* Again, only one water bottle cage spot on the frame
* IT’S NOT IN THE CITY OF HOUSTON
The obvious solution to my problem is to drive to Dallas and buy the bike I love. Oh wait, no. The obvious solution is to wait 3-6 weeks for the new S22s to hit Houston. When it’s so close to potential elation, why not wait? Well, the most obvious reason is Ironman Wisconsin. I have my longest ride this weekend and a (hilly!) 60-80 miler next weekend, so the timing is just right to get a new bike tested out and adjusted before the race; waiting any longer could spell disaster. So why not wait until after IM WI and buy it? Because of--hopefully--law school. IM Arizona will be my last full one til post-law school, and who knows when I’ll fit the next IM in since I see marriage not so far down the road. If I get a new bike, it has to be this week or not til I’m a rich and joyless lawyer. Another reason to not wait is that the price of the S22 has been increasing from year to year, and in September my $2600 ceiling will not be high enough to accommodate it. If I can’t afford it later, why wait? Finally, what if I wait to try this bike and I don't like it? What then? All my patience will be for naught and I'll still be buying the Cannondale.
If I get my way, however, Big Hoss shall not be taken to Wisconsin.
I was supposed to go purchase the Cannondale on Tuesday, but I couldn’t get there because of a fun (sarcastic fun) hill workout and spinning afterward. Tonight I’m doing my last long run (hooray!), so I can’t afford the time to jet to the bike shop. Tomorrow, however, I will have ample opportunity to choose reality over my dream. I don’t know what to do and time is running out! Any suggestions?
I went shopping all weekend after weeks of comparing prices, specs, and materials online. What I found was that August is a bad time to buy a bike if you ride a 52. Why? Because the new model year comes out in September and the bike you’ve been lusting after for the past two years won’t be available in any bike shop in the entire city. Or something.
But despite that, I found a bike I love. I rode more expensive bikes and made bitter beer faces while doing so. This lovable bike, while from a brand I don’t like and a line I downright despise, felt like it was made for me. And it was $1000 less than my budget! Sounds like a dream, right?
NO. It just so happens that the 2005 Cannondale Ironman 800 (only in blue) is the ugliest bike I’ve laid eyes on. It’s way nastier than the bike about which I’ve been dreaming for all these long months: the Felt S22. Never mind I can’t find an S22 to test ride to save my life, and that it’s very likely I won’t like it. What do I know about what I like? Before last weekend would have guessed that the Cervélo I rode would have made my heart melt instead of my stomach rumble in displeasure (though it could have been because I was hungry. OR because I hated the bike… one of the two). Expensive doesn’t mean totally awesome when it comes to comfort, but I can’t let go of this dream bike, even when I have something I’ll love within my grasp.
But why am I being so silly about the way my bike looks? Hero George has the IM 800 and I don’t remember thinking his bike was ugly. Of course, George is so fast he could have just been a blue streak whizzing past me. And didn’t I learn in college that hot guys were way more likely to be dumb or not funny than the average or dorky looking ones? I am SOO over being shallow, and shouldn’t it be easier with an inanimate object than a person? Well yes, in theory.
Lists help me sort shit out.
Here are my problems with the bike:
* It’s unattractive and I identify with my transportation aides: my truck, my current Felt, my Mizunos
* It has 650c wheels, and while I’m all about accelerating/decelerating faster, they’re not standard
* It’s the same year as the bike I’m riding now since I bought Big Hoss at the beginning of the 2005 model year
* It’s a Cannondale
* It only has one place for a water bottle cage and I don’t like the ass grabbing seat stem water bottle holders
* It’s ugly
* It’s an Ironman® product, which isn’t my style (I think it’s borderline pretentious, especially because I’m slow)
* It’s $1000 less than I wanted to spend (and $950 less than the S22) so its components aren’t as nice… not that I could tell, but still
* It’s ugly as shit
Here’s what I like:
* It’s the most comfortable bike I've test rode by a loooooong shot
* It has Carbon Stryke aerobars, which I wanted to put on my bike anyway
* It’s a tri bike! I’m so grown up!
* It feels like half the weight of my last bike when really it’s only 4-6 lbs lighter
* It’s inexpensive enough that I can justify the $200 new tri cycling shoes I just bought
* It’s aluminum
* If I ever buy racing wheels in the future, they’ll be cheaper for 650s than 700s
Here’s what I like about the imaginary S22:
* It’s a brand I love
* It’s gorgeous
* It has nicer components
* It has 700c wheels on the 52 frame
* It has 11-23 freewheel versus 12-23, so the jumps in gears are slightly more noticeable
* It's also a tri bike
* It’s also aluminum
* I’ve been yearning for it since I first laid eyes on it last year
And what I don’t like:
* It’s punch-in-the-gut expensive for me
* I don’t know what size frame I need since my current 54 is too big but the 50 seems small
* It doesn’t have Profile Design handlebars, and I really like them because you can adjust them so much
* Again, only one water bottle cage spot on the frame
* IT’S NOT IN THE CITY OF HOUSTON
The obvious solution to my problem is to drive to Dallas and buy the bike I love. Oh wait, no. The obvious solution is to wait 3-6 weeks for the new S22s to hit Houston. When it’s so close to potential elation, why not wait? Well, the most obvious reason is Ironman Wisconsin. I have my longest ride this weekend and a (hilly!) 60-80 miler next weekend, so the timing is just right to get a new bike tested out and adjusted before the race; waiting any longer could spell disaster. So why not wait until after IM WI and buy it? Because of--hopefully--law school. IM Arizona will be my last full one til post-law school, and who knows when I’ll fit the next IM in since I see marriage not so far down the road. If I get a new bike, it has to be this week or not til I’m a rich and joyless lawyer. Another reason to not wait is that the price of the S22 has been increasing from year to year, and in September my $2600 ceiling will not be high enough to accommodate it. If I can’t afford it later, why wait? Finally, what if I wait to try this bike and I don't like it? What then? All my patience will be for naught and I'll still be buying the Cannondale.
If I get my way, however, Big Hoss shall not be taken to Wisconsin.
I was supposed to go purchase the Cannondale on Tuesday, but I couldn’t get there because of a fun (sarcastic fun) hill workout and spinning afterward. Tonight I’m doing my last long run (hooray!), so I can’t afford the time to jet to the bike shop. Tomorrow, however, I will have ample opportunity to choose reality over my dream. I don’t know what to do and time is running out! Any suggestions?
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Insult to injury
I’m not sure if you’re supposed to learn something on every key training session, but I seem to. Two weeks ago I learned you’re not supposed to wear underwear with your cycling shorts (honestly, how are you supposed to learn that if no one pulls you aside and tells you?). Last week I learned that running 17+ on the treadmill is like running 10 miles outside in August. The past week I’ve picked up even more.
Sunday I was scheduled to do a 90 mile ride. This would be my first ride that I did completely alone, but I figured it was basically just like riding with people who’d dropped me a few miles in (which would basically be anyone capable of riding 90 miles). I didn’t put enough long rides in on my actual bike for Arizona, and I’ve been determined to not allow myself to do the same for Wisconsin. Anyway, the plan was to do the 59 mile Ironstar half IM course, then ride to Richards and back, a 33 mile addition. The ride went pretty well despite the fatigue in my legs from my long run two days before. The course, which I’d ridden 2 of the past 3 weeks, is a simple loop with some rolling hills. Despite my familiarity with the course, near the end of the loop I made a wrong turn and added about 3 miles to the trip. Oops! No biggie, I thought. After I finished the loop, I started the out and back portion of the ride. It was getting hot since I hadn’t started til 8:30, but I was hanging in there because I had so little left to do. Finally, I finished the out and back and turned to head back home.
...except I turned down the wrong street. The last time I’d added to the course I’d missed the safer turnoff to home and had to ride on a major road for a mile or two extra. It was very nerve-wracking, and I was determined to not pass my safe journey home. Unfortunately, in my zeal to avoid said turn I took a wrong one 0.1 miles early. I realized I’d made a mistake when I was about 3 miles out—about the time I ate my last Clif Blok and ran out of water. Fuck. I turned around, got on the right road, and crawled home. All told I spent about a half hour without food and water, which might have been a little more comfortable if it hadn’t been in the 2:00 PM hour. By the time I got back to my car I was in no mood to do a run-- after all, I'd added over 9 miles to my intended ride--so I packed up, drove home, and took a cool shower.
What did I learn in all this? A lesson I should have known months ago: always bring enough hydration/nutrition. It’s worth it to have an extra water bottle or gel with you at the end of the ride in case something unexpected happens--like, for example, getting lost twice. All of this is especially ridiculous because I did stop to buy some water (and a Coke...I was craving one, and it probably kept me from running out of food even earlier) at mile 40. Next time I guess I’ll buy two bottles. :-(
Fast forward to last night. After my wild success doing my long run on a treadmill last week I was planning on doing it again this week. The plan: 18.5 miles, one Clif Shot electrolyte drink, 2 GUs, a bag of Bloks, and an iPod. I also decided to try out my new sports bra and shorts I bought during tax free weekend last Friday. I was a little nervous about the long run since I’d rolled my ankle doing hills on Tuesday night, but figured I could stop if it really bothered me. Well, the run went great—I felt good til mile 17, had no GI troubles, and was pretty jazzed about what music came up on my shuffled playlist. My ankle also felt just fine, at least while I was running.
When I finished my run I stretched, wiped down my ‘mill, then headed to the shower. That’s when I found the largest and nastiest chafe mark on my chest that I’ve had in recent history. So much for my new awesome bra! In addition, the cut on my stubbed toe (I closed it in a sliding closet door on Monday and proceeded to bleed all over the bathroom… gross, huh?) was also aching and swollen, along with my rolled ankle. I was falling apart.
I went home and was fretting about all these non-injury afflictions to my boyfriend, to which he responded, “yeah but it beats a torn ACL.” Eh, I guess. Still, in an ideal world it would be quite wonderful to stay properly hydrated, unchafed, and avoid stubbing one’s toes (which I've done twice in a week).
I’m pretty stoked for the next month and can hardly believe my race is just 31 short days away. I only have three long rides and one long run left! The end is near and very very bright… so long as I can avoid rubbing off my skin or hitting my clunky toes on nearby objects. Train and learn, right?
Sunday I was scheduled to do a 90 mile ride. This would be my first ride that I did completely alone, but I figured it was basically just like riding with people who’d dropped me a few miles in (which would basically be anyone capable of riding 90 miles). I didn’t put enough long rides in on my actual bike for Arizona, and I’ve been determined to not allow myself to do the same for Wisconsin. Anyway, the plan was to do the 59 mile Ironstar half IM course, then ride to Richards and back, a 33 mile addition. The ride went pretty well despite the fatigue in my legs from my long run two days before. The course, which I’d ridden 2 of the past 3 weeks, is a simple loop with some rolling hills. Despite my familiarity with the course, near the end of the loop I made a wrong turn and added about 3 miles to the trip. Oops! No biggie, I thought. After I finished the loop, I started the out and back portion of the ride. It was getting hot since I hadn’t started til 8:30, but I was hanging in there because I had so little left to do. Finally, I finished the out and back and turned to head back home.
...except I turned down the wrong street. The last time I’d added to the course I’d missed the safer turnoff to home and had to ride on a major road for a mile or two extra. It was very nerve-wracking, and I was determined to not pass my safe journey home. Unfortunately, in my zeal to avoid said turn I took a wrong one 0.1 miles early. I realized I’d made a mistake when I was about 3 miles out—about the time I ate my last Clif Blok and ran out of water. Fuck. I turned around, got on the right road, and crawled home. All told I spent about a half hour without food and water, which might have been a little more comfortable if it hadn’t been in the 2:00 PM hour. By the time I got back to my car I was in no mood to do a run-- after all, I'd added over 9 miles to my intended ride--so I packed up, drove home, and took a cool shower.
What did I learn in all this? A lesson I should have known months ago: always bring enough hydration/nutrition. It’s worth it to have an extra water bottle or gel with you at the end of the ride in case something unexpected happens--like, for example, getting lost twice. All of this is especially ridiculous because I did stop to buy some water (and a Coke...I was craving one, and it probably kept me from running out of food even earlier) at mile 40. Next time I guess I’ll buy two bottles. :-(
Fast forward to last night. After my wild success doing my long run on a treadmill last week I was planning on doing it again this week. The plan: 18.5 miles, one Clif Shot electrolyte drink, 2 GUs, a bag of Bloks, and an iPod. I also decided to try out my new sports bra and shorts I bought during tax free weekend last Friday. I was a little nervous about the long run since I’d rolled my ankle doing hills on Tuesday night, but figured I could stop if it really bothered me. Well, the run went great—I felt good til mile 17, had no GI troubles, and was pretty jazzed about what music came up on my shuffled playlist. My ankle also felt just fine, at least while I was running.
When I finished my run I stretched, wiped down my ‘mill, then headed to the shower. That’s when I found the largest and nastiest chafe mark on my chest that I’ve had in recent history. So much for my new awesome bra! In addition, the cut on my stubbed toe (I closed it in a sliding closet door on Monday and proceeded to bleed all over the bathroom… gross, huh?) was also aching and swollen, along with my rolled ankle. I was falling apart.
I went home and was fretting about all these non-injury afflictions to my boyfriend, to which he responded, “yeah but it beats a torn ACL.” Eh, I guess. Still, in an ideal world it would be quite wonderful to stay properly hydrated, unchafed, and avoid stubbing one’s toes (which I've done twice in a week).
I’m pretty stoked for the next month and can hardly believe my race is just 31 short days away. I only have three long rides and one long run left! The end is near and very very bright… so long as I can avoid rubbing off my skin or hitting my clunky toes on nearby objects. Train and learn, right?
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